


Winchester Way

by Deadmockingbirds



Series: The Winchester's Series [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 17 year old sex, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Michael, Babylon, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Corporal Punishment, Crying, Domestic Discipline, Elements of Queer as Folk, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Cane, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nice Michael with plenty of snark, Non-Consensual Violence, Open style relationship, Otk spanking, Rough Sex, Spanking, Team Dean's Red Ass, Teen Angst, Top!Cas, Violence, manwhoring, mild infantalism, non-consensual physical abuse (Michael-Lucifer), paddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 337,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadmockingbirds/pseuds/Deadmockingbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Michael are destined to be together. Michael's already extremely protective of Dean and Dean always wants to be where Michael is--so could they just get together already?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> I STRONGLY URGE YOU TO READ THIS:
> 
> This fic takes place in the Winchester AU's future, but if I don't write it while it's fresh, it'll be gone from my head, and if I'm writing I might as well post. And besides, I know some ppl want to see this, like, NOW. This is part of the Winchester series, but it may be different than you're used to, so I felt some warning was approps. 
> 
> 1) Please familiarize yourself for the rules for commenting on my page: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadmockingbirds/profile
> 
> 2) Don't get too hung up on age. This is the reason I don't really like giving the ages of my characters away b/c everyone's opinion on 'appropriate' is different and it gets super tricky. Dean gives a bit of an explanation that's not really an explanation, but hopefully it will make you feel a little more comfortable. If not; don't read.
> 
> 3) I'm going to (steal) borrow a bunch of stuff from Queer as Folk. If you haven't watched, oh good, you'll just think I'm the writing genius. But alas, I'm not, that's where 'Babylon' is from and the basis for the relationship btwn Michael and Dean. They'll be sorta like Brian and Justin from QAF, but with my own spin. And if you haven't watched QAF, why the hell haven't you? It's only the best show in the world.  
> If you'll recall, Justin is 17 and Brian is 29 when they first fuck. My characters will be a little closer in 'human' age. You'll see. 
> 
> 4) This is DD for the super advanced. There are certain concepts about DD you should be familiar with before reading, or you will not enjoy this fic. I would direct you to my other story, Big Daddy Dean for a more 101 version. 
> 
> 5) Lucifer is quite abusive to Michael. Sorry. Just the way it goes. But we can all hate him together. 
> 
> 6) I may have to come back and 'adjust' things as I write the other story, but this is pretty much how this stories going to go--I've already got most of it in my head. 
> 
> 7) While I advise you to familiarize yourself with the deeper concepts of DD before you read, **THIS STORY IS NOT MEANT TO INFORM OR INSTRUCT ON ANY KIND OF LIFESTYLE**. While I use elements of the DD lifestyle, I have taken my own creative liberties. If you would like to explore; DD, BDSM, or any other kind of stuffs like that, please seek an expert. This is purely a work of fiction.
> 
> 8) Michael and Dean will (at least for now) have an open style relationship. This means they are NOT committed to just the other. Please understand that they ARE NOT cheating on the other. While it may not be exactly what Dean wants, he's willing to have what Michael has to offer over no sex with Michael at all. (Let the ANGST begin)
> 
> 9) This is NOT the sequel to The Winchesters. That sequel is titled: Growing Up Winchester. This story takes place much later and is the love story of Michael and Dean. We've still got plenty of little Dean to come in GUW. 
> 
> 10) Do NOT get hung up on accents and/or region. It's the reason I've made up where they're from. Wuthering County. There is no Wuthering County in Texas. **This story is not meant to portray, or depict the lives of ANY race of people, it's simply a story about THESE families.** This story depicts THEM and only THEM. Instead, think of these characters as "loosely inspired by Texan culture," rather than a direct portrayal. This is purely a work of fiction. 
> 
> If you're okay with all of that: Enjoy!

"You're not fucking going anywhere, Dean."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? I know you're not my boyfriend—you've made that clear. And even if you were, you don't get to tell me what to fucking do. Only my dads get to tell me what to do."

He grabs me by the neck. Michael's stronger than I am. Not only is he bigger, but he's a fucking archangel. He doesn't need all his angel juice to throw me around like a rag doll.

"I don't give a flying fuck what you think. You're not going on this hunt Dean, so get it out of your head." Michael never needs to raise his voice to sound threatening and reminds me of, oh God, my father. He slams my head (not too hard) against the wall. And since 'Michael has spoken' he walks away like he's going to carry on with his business.

"I don't have to fucking listen to you, asshole." I make a move to leave; but his fucking eagle eyes have a way of pinning me to the spot soon as he looks up at me.

"This is how it's going to go Dean. One of my drivers is going to take you and your car home. If you try to leave on this Hunt, I will have my men drag you back here. I will proceed to use my belt on your backside 'till you can't sit down for at least a week. Am I understood?"

"Fuck you." I'll drive Baby home myself thanks—I'm not letting any of his angel dicks put their mitts on her.

Michael sighs as I'm walking towards the door, storming toward it actually. "Tom," he says and 'Tom' shuts the door and stands in front of it. My hands ball into fists. "Come here, Dean."

"No."

" _Now._ "

Fuck. I turn around and walk back to his desk. He's still not paying much attention to me, putting something into a file, thinking about something that has nothing to do with this argument.

"Pass me that over there," he says casually. I look to where his eyes gesture. It's his fucking paddle.

"No."

"Don’t make it worse."

I'm shaking a little; I know he's planning on spanking my ass because I've being a complete shithead. I grab it up and give it to him. "Thank-you," he says all fucking calmly and takes it in his free hand. And yes, Tom is standing at the door, watching everything. Fucking pervert.

He puts the 'important' file down and comes around the front of his desk where I'm standing. His hands come to my jeans and I think about fighting him, I have before, but I think I've already pissed him off enough today. Not to mention his anger comes out of worry for me. Bad combo.

He shucks my jeans and boxers down, yanking my arm and placing me over his desk.

Without further conversation, he gives me ten good ones with his wooden paddle, each whack bringing me to my toes. I've had lots of spankings in my life; thought my father was the king of spankings who's certainly a close tie with Grampa Winchester, but nobody tops Michael. That's because he's a fucking archangel in case you didn't hear me the first time.

Thankfully that's all he gives me and I'm being yanked up and flipped around, he lifts me so my bare, warmed ass is sitting on his desk. He places both hands (one still holding the paddle) down on either side of me and gives me a leveling look.

I've got stupid tears in my eyes from being spanked like that, but I do feel calmer than I did before. It hurt, but it wasn't that bad.

"I don't know why you're being such a shithead today. I don't care. I've given you orders and you will obey them."

I can't look at his eyes anymore. I look down at my half hard dick. My dick can't help waking up whenever Michael's around. We've only recently begun fucking, but I've wanted him a long time and my dick is Pavlov's fucking dog around him. I always fucking crave Michael, even if I wish it were someone else.

He takes my chin with his thumb and forefinger and turns my lips so they meet with his. The kiss is warm, so unlike Michael, but fierce which is.

"I don't want anything to happen to you. Please stay where I tell you to." He doesn't say please very often.

I wipe my eyes, nodding. He pulls away from me and yanks me up by my arm leaving me to fix my clothes myself as he returns to behind his desk. He puts the paddle down.

"I don't see why you care anyway."

He looks up at me smiling. "Who would I have to be my pain-in-my-ass if something happened to you?"

"It would be a relief for you."

"Probably."

Dick. Angels are dicks. "May I leave now? And can I please drive Baby home myself? I don't want 'them' touching my car."

I give him the Dean eyes, the ones he pretends to be impervious to, but isn't.

"Fuck. Fine. Drive your car home, but someone will be following you, so I'd go straight home if I was you."

I want to punch him in his stupid face.

As I drive away, very aware of the angel assholes leading _and_ following me _and_ equally aware of my slightly warm backside, I pull out my phone. I text Uncle Jared and tell him they're going to have to do this one without me—he's better at explaining things to Uncle Jensen than I am and besides, I know Uncle Jen will call me and find a way to convince me.

But there's no way I can go. Not when Michael's this set against it. And sometimes… well he's really fucking scary when he gets into one of his homicidal rages over me (not that I think he'd hurt me, other than spanking that is). I thought my parents were weird with their relationship, turns out no one has it on Michael and I. Don't let that kiss fool you, we are very much _not_ together. It's understood that we fuck others, but it's also understood that Michael's the fucking boss of whatever the hell our relationship is.

I want to start Hunting again, at least I think I do. Not now, but someday. This hunt was just a small one; good for training, conditioning; feeling things out. It would have been a quick in and out. Of course I wasn't going to tell my fucking parents, 'till after. I didn't tell Michael for that matter—him I wasn't planning on telling at all. He somehow found out like he always finds everything out about me and had his fucking goons drag me to his place.

Not literally. It was much like it is now. I drove Baby, they followed in front and behind me. _Then_ they dragged me up to Michael.

I pull up at home, trying to cool down, so Daddy doesn't see how pissed I am. But give up and decide to just go inside since there's little chance of him not figuring me out anyway.

I park Baby, grab my school bag and storm inside. Daddy gives me an amused look when he sees me slam myself down at the kitchen table. He pours me a glass of juice. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Fudging Michael."

He laughs. "Let's eat pie and play some crib and you can tell me all about it. If you haven't calmed down by the time your father gets home, he'll go over there again."

I should let him. So long as I get to watch. My father telling Michael off is always priceless and brings a smile to my face.

He sets us up with said pie and crib board and maybe because I'm feeling both reckless and suicidal today I tell him what happened. "I wanted to go on a hunt, a small one with Uncle Jared and Jensen."

"Dean. You're only seventeen; we talked about this. You promised you'd wait until you were twenty-one and that you'd discuss it with us."

"I know and I will. I just wanted practice—conditioning, you know."

"I don't like that you were going to go behind our backs, Sur."

"I know. I'm sorry, Daddy. I just, I knew you'd both be dead against it. And I just…"

"It's just a part of you, isn't it baby boy?" Daddy's a lot more understanding than Father's going to be. He's probably going to skin my hide when Daddy tells him, 'cause he will tell him.

I nod. He gets fucking tears in his eyes. "Awww, don't cry Daddy. I'm sorry. I won't do it—besides, I can't if I wanted to. Michael won't let me either."

Daddy wipes his eyes. "Sorry. You're just—you grew up too fast, Dean."

"I'm always going to be your son, Daddy. Don't worry." I hate when he worries about me—I worry about him all the time. Suddenly I'm glad Michael stopped me (but I'm not going to fucking tell Michael that) I've just gotten a glimpse on how much it would have broken Daddy's heart. I think I would have hated myself forever.

"I know, sweetheart. But back to Michael. Are you mad because he stopped you? 'Cause I have to say, I want to phone and thank him. I think your father and him would find themselves agreeing for once."

I'm going to use that line next time I see Michael; it will freak him the fuck out to have him realize he actually agreed with Castiel Winchester for once. "Well, yeah. Naturally. But it's just, I want to be with him. And he still doesn't want to be with me. I know we have this open relationship sort of deal set up and I liked it, I did—but he already tells me what to do all the time anyway, I wish he'd just… be mine."

"Oh Sugar. He is yours."

"And the better part of the Californian male population's," I mutter as I make my move on the crib board.

"Let him get it out of his system and have patience," Daddy tells me. It's so not what he's supposed to be telling me. I pretty much stated that Michael's a man whore. The standard 'motherly' advice is to tell me to forget him; break it off; never see him again. But my parents have been in a similar spot—they know how tied together Michael and I are; that telling me never to see Michael again would be useless.

We play a few more rounds of crib and eat another helping of pie before the home phone rings. I feel like we shouldn't even have a home phone anymore. Daddy answers it, his eyes go wide.

"It's Michael," he mouths to me.

I make a motion like he should hang up on him. Daddy rolls his eyes. Michael must be saying something, 'cause Daddy's just listening to him. "Yeah, just a second Michael," he says.

He mutes the phone. "He wants to come for dinner," he says, muting his voice like he did the phone.

Yeah. He probably wants to make sure I'm not going anywhere. "Tell him I'll be out with a friend tonight."

"I'm not going to piss him off Dean. Like that's going to go over well. Do you want me just to tell him not to come?"

Michael will show up whether we tell him to or not; it would be a nice fuck you to get Daddy to tell him no, since he's not stupid and knows Daddy is checking it through me. But I've already pissed him off enough today. "He can come."

When Father arrives home he breezes in the door and I run to him like I would have when I was littler. "Hey Papa! Good day at the office?" We hug, but he looks up at Daddy over my shoulder.

"What did my loving son do this time?"

I part with him and he moves on to greet Daddy with a sappy kiss like always. "I resent that. I can't be affectionate without being suspected of a crime?"

"Do you want to tell him, or should I?" Daddy asks. Father gives me a pointed look.

"I tried to go hunting with Uncle Jen and Jared."

His dark look makes me want to fucking run, but I remain seated as I am and look at my feet.

"You're grounded."

Yeah. Saw that one coming. "Yes, sir."

"We talked about it Cassy. He's going to keep his promise."

"Yeah. Until the next time. Whose idea was it? Theirs?"

"Mine, sir."

Father peels off his coat hanging it and sits down at the table with me. He shakes his head disappointed in me. I fucking hate disappointing him. "He fessed up, Cas. And you'll never believe who knocked sense into him."

That's Daddy trying to smooth things over before Father loses it. I join in, meeting his eyes. "Michael."

"Michael stopped you?"

"Yeah. You like him now?" I give him the most charming look I can muster. I get a small smile out of him.

"Michael better hope I never find an angel blade." He reaches over to steal the rest of my pie.

"Hey! Get your own pie."

He takes it and starts to eat it anyway. "Shouldn't you be making up for something? I think a little loss of pie is the least of your worries."

The doorbell rings. Perfect. Fucking Michael. "I'll get it," I say even though Donald will actually get it. Mad as I am at Michael, I'm kind of hoping to get a hello kiss from him.

Donald's already taking his long black coat. "See. I'm still here. You can go now."

He turns his dark, icy eyes on me. "It's not smart to antagonize me right now, Dean. Come here."

I go to him knowing I'll get the kiss I want. I'm right. Soon as Donald's gone, he pulls me to him and sticks his tongue down my throat, I respond rubbing my cock into his; he smiles into my lips. "Down, boy."

I laugh. "Why are you here?"

"The reason you thought."

"You could have just called Sam."

"'Cause you're a pain in my ass—you fucking scared me." I'm learning that's Michael for: 'You scared the fucking shit out of me so I couldn't stop thinking about you; I needed to feel your solid form again.' "Next time, you won't get off with a few licks with my paddle; I can tell you that." He smacks my ass again and pulls me in for another kiss.

"Jesus Michael..."

"I should have fucked you earlier, but I was pissed. I need you Dean."

"Parents… Home…" I remind him between kisses.

"Fuck. You're coming back to my place then."

"Can't. Grounded."

"How could you have done something in so little time?"

"I told them about the Hunt."

"Ah."

I take his hand and lead him through to the kitchen. "Hello Mr. and Mr. Winchester," he says with a smile to Father, that's more of a 'look at what I've got' kind of smile, since we're holding hands.

Father says nothing. Daddy on the other hand has always been kind to Michael. "Hi Michael. Thanks again for saving our boy from his own stupidity."

"Hey," I say letting go of Michael's hand, deciding to sit beside Father—it will calm him down a bit.

"Well. It was stupid Dean. I think you've been taking too many pages from your Uncle's books," Daddy says.

"I agree entirely Mr. Winchester. Are they about? I'd like a word with them."

"It's a Winchester family matter. There's no need for you to speak with them," Father says. I want to laugh. So it begins.

"Of course, sir." Which means he does agree it's a Winchester family matter, but because I'm his business too, he'll still speak with them later whether Castiel likes it or not.

"Dinner's going to be served shortly. Let's move into the dining room," Daddy suggests feeling the tension tug. It's always like this. We've all accepted it.

We move into the dining room and that's about the same time the doorbell rings for the second time. We all look at each other and know each other well enough to read each of our expressions and determine that none of us are expecting anyone.

Uncle Jensen storms into the room like a tidal wave; Uncle Jared is looking at us all apologetically—there's no stopping his twin; he's clearly tried all the way here. "Now see here, Cas. We want to take Dean on this hunt—it's a simple in out. Just a Vamp who doesn't realize humans aren't chew toys. It's not like he hasn't done it before."

Michael is fucking lasering me with his eyes, probably thinking Uncle Jensen means 'this' life, Father knows what he's referring to, but doesn't give a fuck how many vamps I beheaded in my last life, and Daddy's trying to keep from laughing.

"He's not going with you," Father and Michael say at the same time then glare at the other.

"What is that piece of angel scum doing here?" Yes we all know Michael's an angel. No Uncle Jensen still doesn't like him.

Michael's up and approaches Uncle Jen with a great big fuck you smile. "This angel scum is making sure you idiots don't get him killed. I don't want Dean involved with hunting, ever again; am I clear?"

"I'll be the one to say what Dean can and cannot do," Father says, even though father would probably rather not have me hunting either.

"Fine. You guys can Lord over him now, but when he's an adult, what will you do then?" Uncle Jensen asks.

"When Dean's an adult, he can make these choices, but at current he's still in school and we'd like him to finish; alive, thank-you." That's Father.

"I can," Michael says.

"You can what, fuckface?"

"Jensen, Colt."

"Sorry."

"I can stop him and I will. He doesn't need to hunt anymore—he's got you two idiots to do it for him," Michael says.

"I can't even believe this. Sam?" That's Uncle Jensen.

"Oh no. Not my territory. I think we've settled that at least for the time being Dean is not going on this hunt with you." He puts a hand up to Michael to forestall any of his comments—Michael listens to Daddy. "Now, y'all sit your butts down and join us, we're going to have a nice meal. And if I hear the word hunting uttered again from any of you, I'm getting out my bar of soap. Understood?"

Daddy gets five simultaneous 'yes sirs,' and a smile from Father. "Good. Let's eat."

~DM~

Father was easy on me—only two weeks. He respected that I came clean. He lectured me pretty good, but it was after Daddy had a chance to talk with him, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Anyway, this jaybird is free, so I'm going out.

"What time is your curfew?" Father asks me like he doesn't know. He's the one who made it. Much as Daddy claims to be in one hundred percent agreement with him, I know curfews aren't Daddy's style. I slyly found out from Nana Colt that he never even had one. Besides, 'curfew' has Winchester written all over it.

"One am?"

"Try again."

"You know, I'm seventeen now; yet I notice my curfew's still the same as when I was sixteen. Shouldn't there be some kind of renegotiation?"

"Huh. Sam," he says conversationally to Daddy. "I thought Dean wanted to go out tonight, but it doesn't sound like it anymore."

Daddy gives me his _'quit it, sur, before you get yourself into trouble I can't get you out of'_ eyes.

"All right. All right. Midnight."

"Good, boy. We'll see you then. Have fun."

Not even a curfew can ruin my mood for tonight—I've got my hands on my first fake ID, well, in this life. I've decided I'm going to a (mostly) male bar with my friend Hannah. Yeah, she's a chick, but she's pretty much my only friend. Sure I attend lots of parties and am socially-social if you get me, but I prefer keeping to myself on a more personal level. It's one of the many reasons Daddy worries about me, but I've never really had friends. Besides, I've got so many family members, who needs'em?

As you can imagine, Daddy fucking loves Hannah. She's (close) to my age and a girl who goes to my high school. I pick her up in Baby. "Hey Dean."

She looks amazing. Hannah's hot. And yeah, I've hit that. Behind the bleachers at a football game. It was good sex, but we realized we were better friends; she's super cool and has a major crush on the football captain. She knows I'm in love with Michael and obsessively like to be where he is. It's why I'm headed to Babylon at all.

Unlike me, Michael has friends. Some of them not even angels; he actually prefers not to hang out with angels and considers angels 'business.'

And Michael is strictly into men, in case you wanted to know. It fucking bugs him when I sleep with women, but since we're not together, there's shit all he'll actually say about it.

We have no problem getting in. The bouncers at the male clubs (women aren't banned from them, but it's where men go to fuck men, so women usually don't come) are a little more lax, so long as you have something that looks legit. And ours are super legit. I had Uncle Jared make'em up for me, but he says he's denying everything if Daddy finds out. Fair enough. He slipped them to me after dinner, the night of the botched hunt. At least something good came out of that.

When we're in, we get drinks and I scout Will and Marcus at the bar on the other side. "Hey fellas."

"Dean? What are you doing here?" Marcus asks.

"Michael's gonna flip. Does he know you're here?" Will asks.

"Fuck him." Okay yeah I'm _here_ for him and Hannah knows it, doesn't mean I'm going to let them know it. "We came to have a good time. Right Hannah?"

She laughs knowing me well. "Right."

"Well if you are looking for Michael—which I wouldn't if I were you—he's in the back room."

That's where everyone fucks in case you don't know. "Not looking for Michael. C'mon Hannah, let's go dance." Maybe I'll suck someone off in the back room right next to him.

"You know Dean, fuck that guy. Find someone else and fuck them in the back room. I dare you."

"I'm with you sister," I say. Hannah's the best.

We do dance, 'till we're ready for another drink and I spot Michael coming out of the back room, finally. I've changed my mind. I do want him to know I'm here. "I'll get you a drink," I tell Hannah, she sees Michael and gives me an 'are you sure' look.

"Definitely."

I slide in beside him at the bar counter, "hey handsome. Buy you a drink?"

He turns his deep eagle eyes on me; he's displeased. "Dean? What are you doing here? I thought Papa Winchester grounded you."

"I was sprung."

"Not for long. Wait 'till I tell him."

"You're going to call Castiel? That I'd like to see."

"I'll call Sam."

"What's the matter? Afraid I'll fuck someone hotter than you?"

He smiles. "There is no one hotter than me, Duckling."

I narrow my eyes at him. I hate when he calls me that—even if it's a bit true. I've been following him around in one form or another since I was about two. "Well the way I see it, ain't no place safer for me to be than with your two eyes on me. I won't drink much—gotta drive anyway—and I've got to be home by curfew, so I figure at least I can come here to dance, and have a fuck or three. The best part being, you don't have to worry your pretty little head about me."

"Fine. You may stay, so long as you follow those rules—you did make them after all."

I nod. He's always 'concerned' when I'm out at parties and texting me every few hours. I knew he'd accept my argument.

"And tonight Dean, I get to be one of those fucks."

Jesus Christ my dick's hard.

"How'd it go?" Hannah asks when he's walked off with some twink.

"Better than those two jerk offs thought; he doesn't mind me being here. I think they were just jealous. Everyone wants to fuck Michael; I'm the only one he's ever fucked more than once." I don't tell her how it actually is. I tell Hannah most things, but we haven't really got to the whole conversation on _'I come from a domestic discipline household and while the guy I'm madly in love with isn't with me-with me, we unofficially have that going as well.'_ Seriously. How do you have that conversation with anyone? If you have any ideas, let me know. Would be much appreciated.

Hannah ends up befriending Marcus and Will when I'm off dancing with this hot dark-haired kid. "Hey Sugar," I whisper in his ear. "What say you, we take this back there?"

I gesture toward the back room then lean in to kiss him. That's when Michael cuts in. "Fuck off. Beat it." He says to the kid. I'm fucking confused as the kid scampers off knowing not to challenge the likes of Michael.

"What the fuck, dude?"

He starts dancing with me like he didn't just chase away my dance soon-to-be fuck partner. "I don't like this Dean."

"What?"

"Watching you… with others."

"Yeah, it fucking sucks doesn't it?"

"Is that what this is? You're getting back at me?"

"No. Just an added bonus."

"I don't do relationships; you know that and you know why."

"Because you like to fuck everything that moves. But you can't expect me not to fuck if you're not going to make me the same promise." He's become just the tiniest bit more possessive since we started fucking. And he might know I'm a man whore, but apparently watching me with my conquests is a whole other thing.

He growls. "Dean."

"Fine. I'll leave, but I get my own night here. Saturdays."

"That's the best night."

"It's the only night I can come here at the moment."

He thinks on it a moment then huffs. "You don't have to leave. I'll get over it."

Like fuck he will.

"Just… be with me tonight?" He asks.

I pretend to think about. It's a novelty he's even asking. "I guess so, but just tonight."

He grabs my hand. "C'mon. I'll buy you a drink, then I'm fucking your brains out."

Mission accomplished.

"I see you found your jail-bait boyfriend Mikey," Marcus yells over the music. Why Michael hasn't killed that guy yet I'll never know. I look younger than Michael and well I'm a whole lot younger than Michael considering he's as old as time, but he _looks_ twenty-fiveish and I definitely _look_ like I'm in my late teens. But since I age slower than everyone else, thanks to Crowley, we don't really know how old I am either, so my parents give me a birthday about every year and a half. Try to figure that one out. I just go with it; it's too fucking confusing and gives me a headache when I try to solve the riddle. I leave all of that completely up to Daddy.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Oh. Well then I'd like a turn with him when you're done," Marcus teases, stupidly. Suicidally.

Michael grabs his throat. I think he's deciding where to start slicing him up first.

"It was a joke—a bad one. I'm sorry," he says. Michael lets him go. He still wants to kill him.

"Second though, tell your girlfriend we're leaving and we'll take her home. You're coming to my place—I'll have someone drive your car to my condo," he says in my ear.

I glare at him. He knows I hate when angel dicks drive Baby. "I don't want to hear about it Dean."

Yeah—he just needs to get out of here before he offs someone; maybe I'll let it go for now; not a good time to argue with him.

Hannah doesn't mind leaving, but does comment it was the shortest club night ever—I have to agree, but tell her not to worry, we'll have many more.

By the time we reach his condo, he can barely keep his hands off me. "Fuck, Dean. I'm going to shove my cock in you so hard," he says between licking and nipping any free skin he can find. He pulls me to his bed and makes short work of my clothes. Before long my cock is in his mouth.

"I'm going to cum, Mi-Michael."

He slaps my thigh. "Wait."

Fucking bossy asshole.

He flips me over and after a round of preparation, his cock's inside me. He proceeds to pound the living shit out of me. "You fucking… little… whore…" he says between rounds of pounding. "Nibbling on that kid. Don't you want a man Dean?"

"Guess I should go find one then. You're not even really human."

"Dean."

I laugh. His fingers dig deep into me, probably leaving bruises. We both cum, then collapse on his dark blue cotton sheets, panting and tangled together.

"Here's the deal," he says as I'm getting dressed. He's still naked and lighting a cigarette—fucking angels, don't have to worry about lung cancer and shit. "You may come to Babylon, we both fuck whoever we want; but never the same fuck twice. We're not going to be lovey fucking dovey, like your parents and I am not your boyfriend, remember that."

Yeah. I got that.

"Also, no names or numbers exchanged."

"Fine. But I want some stuff too. Your lips are mine, Michael. You don't kiss anyone on the mouth, but me. Same for me."

"You demanding little shit." He's smiling though.

"And you come for Sunday dinner— _every_ Sunday."

"Every Sunday?"

"Every. Fucking. Sunday."

"Fine. You're a pain in my ass."

"Damn right." I lean in and kiss the lips that are just mine.


	2. Apparently, I'm a Winchester now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's the big deal with Sunday dinner at the Winchester's anyway? Let's find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I won't keep writing tremendously long A/Ns for this story. Least I fucking hope not. 
> 
> Big thank-you to DeathjunkE and majestic_duck for pointing out that I had designated Dean and Michael incorrectly. What I meant was, they have an open relationship. Dean's Michael's 'Not-boyfriend.' LOL Make sense? Doesn't to me either, but hopefully will be an interesting read. 
> 
> This is totally my fault, but I think I confused ppl by posting this story so soon. This is not the sequel to the Winchester's. This is the sequel to the sequel--hahahah! 
> 
> We haven't seen the last of little Dean. You'll get to read more about his 'life' in 'Growing Up Winchester' which is the ACUTAL sequel to the Winchester's.

My Sunday starts out pretty fucking good. We have a nice breakfast; Church is decent. I remember last night and Michael's promise; but we'll see if he actually follows through.

"What are your plans today, Dean Bean?"

Anyone who makes fun of me for my daddy calling me nicknames can taste fucking blood when I knock their teeth backward. Daddy can call me whatever he wants, for as long as he wants. So shut your piehole.

"Nothing. Michael's coming for Sunday dinner. He might just be around _every_ Sunday dinner from now on."

"Oh really?"

"Yes?" His tone of voice makes me say that like a question—in hindsight, I probably should have asked.

"Are you trying to give Cas a heart attack Dean?"

"No, sir." I know he's kidding. Kind of.

"You do know what that means in this family, right?"

"I hadn't forgot."

"Does Michael know?"

"Well… he doesn't not know, but he doesn't know-know."

"So, no."

"If I told him, he'd never agree to it."

"Your father's going to have kittens for nothing. Do you think that's fair?"

"It won't be for nothing. Michael and I will end up together one day—I know it."

"You're right Dean. No problem. You just have to convince his father, to allow him to marry a human."

"It could happen."

"You don't know that."

"You told me you started going for Sunday dinners at Gramma and Grampa's when you were sixteen, well before you and Father were married—you couldn't know you would get married then either, anything could have happened. It only matters that the relationship is, serious," I argue.

"Okay, fair enough Pumpkin. You don't have to be heading towards marriage, but can you tell me the relationship is serious?" Daddy's got his kind, concerned voice on.

Well it did get kind of serious for Michael and I last night. Our agreement may be unconventional, but it's an agreement none-the-less. "Very. I love him, Daddy." Okay, now there are fucking tears in my eyes.

"Okay. Okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry—I just; don't want you to get hurt when what you think will happen, doesn't. I know you love each other, it's just hard to say if you'll ever be able to get married. Sunday dinners are for—"

"Family. I know. But don't you think Michael's family by now? He's known me since I was a baby; he's saved my life countless times. Even if we _never_ get married; isn't what we have enough to be considered serious?"

Daddy sighs. "It is, baby. It is—I just don't know if your father will agree."

"He will. I'll get him to see."

"You're his only son too—he worries about you, constantly."

That's a fucking understatement. Between him and Michael; I don't know who's worse.

"And even if you can convince your father, what about Grampa Winchester? He isn't going to like it all if he hears you're not going to marry. Sure it's not an immediate problem, but you're asking your father to deal with a future avalanche. Are you okay with that Dean?"

"Grampa'll make an exception for me; he always does." Of course he'll only give in _after_ a wicked lecture to Father, but Father's used to it by now. He can handle it.

And speaking of Winchesters, Father walks into the kitchen. "What are we discussing? It looks serious."

"Dean would like to have Michael come for Sunday night dinners— _every_ Sunday night dinner." Daddy saves me by phrasing it as the question it should have been. He stresses the _every_ because it's not like Michael hasn't been for Sunday night dinner, but the way we're talking about it, is a whole lot different from the casual way Michael's attended before.

Father goes quiet as a stone. "You're too young—" That argument dies off as he realizes him and Daddy were younger than I am now when Daddy began Sunday night dinners at the Winchester's.

"Aha! _He's_ too old."

"He's an archangel, Papa. He's like, a million years old. He's too old for anyone."

"So we agree then. He's too old."

"Be serious Papa," I say a bit exasperated. He's not even trying to give me a good reason, he's just saying 'no,' nicely.

"Do you plan on marrying this boy, Dean?"

Okay, now he's serious, but I think I wish he'd go back to the other voice he was using. Father's 'serious' voice always makes me just the littlest bit flustered. Especially when I know I won't have a satisfactory answer for him. "Well, no. But we're going to be together forever."

"In that case, absolutely not."

I ball my hands knowing I should shut up now. I've learned the hard way, he doesn't take kindly to being argued with, once he's given you his ruling. Period.

But it's something I really want, so I risk it and push, but I a little bit chicken out and turn to my other parent. "Daddy?"

"I thought you had this one, Pumpkin Butter?"

Way to throw me under the bus, Daddy. I'm willing to beg if I have to. "I love him, Father. Just like you love Daddy. This is probably going to be the only way I'll ever have more with him." I wipe away another fucking tear; doesn't anyone get it by now?

I expect him to send me to my room, or something, a telling off in the least, but instead, he pauses, thinking; he looks to Daddy and they talk about me without words. Sometimes I can read their conversations and sometimes I can't; this one is Greek to me. "All right, Dean. He may attend Sunday dinners."

I almost can't fucking believe it. "Thanks, Papa." I'm quick to give him a thank-you hug. Don't make fun. I know he's making some kind of big exception for me, an exception from the 'Winchester code' that Grampa will rake him over the coals for. It's a big fucking deal and I'm grateful.

"Hold it there, Cowboy," Daddy says.

Crap. "What?"

"I have a condition."

I'm pretty sure I know what he's going to say; I play dumb. "You do?"

"You tell him what Sunday dinner means, Sur."

Yep. That's what I thought. Fuck. This is going to be over before it starts.

~DM~

"Your father's going to treat this formally—like how Grampa Winchester did when I went for Sunday dinners, you know that right?"

"Yah, I know."

"Then how did you think you would get away without telling him?"

"Look, this isn't news to either of you, but I'm going to… I'm the 'you' in Michael's and my relationship and from the stories you've told me about you and Father, we're a little farther along in that department. I didn't think there was much else for him to know." I'm fairly open with my parents. I love and respect them to death, their opinion is important to me. Doesn't mean I don't 'pull a Dean Winchester' every now and again—which gets me into trouble—but I probably don't 'hide' as many things from them as most 'kids' do. Um, except obviously my fake ID. Yeah, we're going to keep that one in the vault for a little while.

"Oh Dean," Daddy shakes his head like he can't believe how ridiculous I am. "We're a domestic discipline _family_ —he still has to agree to eventually submit to your father _and_ to Grampa Winchester when he visits."

"What? But Michael's clearly the Head of House, so to speak—I understand why you submitted to Grampa, but I didn't think it was the same for Michael because of his role." Okay now I'm freaking out a bit.

"Do you see why you should talk to Daddy before you jump off bridges, sweetheart?"

I nod. "I'll cancel it. There's no way he'll agree to any of that." It won't just be about me; and I know it. He's already got one 'master' he has to obey. There's no way he'll agree to two more. Truth is, Grampa Winchester is older, and not around a lot, but father is and father hates Michael. I'm sure he'll make Michael's life living hell if he can.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to rain on your Dean parade."

"No. It's okay. You're right as usual."

"C'mere Dean Bean."

I practically run to his arms for a hug—Daddy gives the best fucking hugs.

A little while later, I'm staring at my phone. I've got to tell Michael he doesn't have to come—he'll be fucking pleased anyway, I don't know why it's taking me so long to tell him—I was just fucking excited I guess. It was nice to hear him agree even if he didn't know what he was agreeing to. Finally I text him: _'Don't worry about the Sunday night dinners thing—that's off.'_

I mull over that for a few minutes before I finally push send. Good. That done makes me feel a little better and worse at the same time.

Suddenly, my phone is ringing. It's Michael. Fuck. I don't want to deal with his bullshit right now. I push the button that makes it go straight to voicemail. He calls again. I let it go to voicemail again. Then I get a text: _Answer your fucking phone now, Dean._

I text: _I'm busy asshole._

He replies: _I'll be over in a few._

Fuck. I call him. "Don't come over here."

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Look, everything's still the same, just, you don't have to come for Sunday dinners. I thought you'd be fucking happy about that."

"I'll see you later, Dean." He hangs up. Fuck my life.

I get in my fucking car and drive to his condo, hoping he's there. He is. Tom let's me in, but warns me, "sir, I think you'll want to wait in here—he's… busy at the moment."

Yeah. I know what fucking 'busy' means. "How long's he going to be busy? I don't have all fucking day."

The door to his bedroom slides open, a dude doing up his pants walks out backwards as Michael kisses his neck. Michael's only got a pair of jeans on. I do my best not to fucking care—this is what we do, this is who we are. "Bye David," he says.

'David' smiles at Michael—David's in love; everyone falls in fucking love with Michael, and almost trips over the air as he stumbles, drunken on that love. Then he sees me.

"Who the fuck is this, Michael?"

"None of your fucking business. Get out."

"Bye." I smile and wave. Dick.

He leaves, but he doesn't like me, I can tell. I probably won't lose sleep over that.

"Now what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you about tonight. You don't need to come."

"I want to," he says stepping down from the altar his 'bedroom' sits on and walking over to his fridge and grabbing a beer. Michael _likes_ beer. Apparently most angels don't have particular affections to food, but Michael does. He thinks it's from living with so little grace for so long.

He won't want to come to dinner when I tell him. "Look. I shouldn't have invited you to that in the first place—it was stupid. We're not together, like you said. Sunday dinners are for… family."

He freezes. "Okay. Glad we sorted that out. I'll be by at five; I'll bring white wine. Now leave. I've got someone coming by."

"Michael. I'm fucking serious. Don't fucking come."

"If you tell me why."

Let's pause here for a second so I can explain to you why this is so fucking hard to explain to him. Because from what you've seen, he disciplines me and I let him. Except he's not my dominant, he's certainly not my husband; he's not even really my boyfriend. More over, while I may tell him to fuck off every five minutes, and am constantly looking for loopholes in certain rules he's 'mentioned' in passing, I do obey his orders, like to the fucking 'T.' I hate when he's mad at me, for real mad at me, instead of our constant state of bickering. In many respects, it resembles my father and daddy's relationship, uh, except all the bickering. Daddy would never bicker with Father.

And there's no formality to it. It's not official. There's this feeling that neither of us are committed to the other while at the same time we're so fucking committed… we're like peanut butter and jelly committed. You know? Peanut butter and honey tastes okay, we all like peanut butter and nutella, but at the end of the day, peanut butter and jelly is where it's at. Peanut butter might have fun with the others, but peanut butter always comes home to jelly.

If I use the word 'domestic,' I'm afraid he'll fucking flip and send me away—he's done it before. It will seem official and Michael doesn't do official.

"It's no secret to you how my parents are—father is, well he makes all the rules. It's an agreement Daddy and him have; they made it a long time ago."

"I don't have time to talk about this, Dean. I already know all of that, get to the point."

"You only invite a significant other to every Sunday dinner in my family, someone you're serious about, someone who's willing to make… a pledge of sorts."

"We aren't serious."

"I know. Which is why it was stupid for me to invite you in the first place. Look, I already said you don't have to worry about it."

"What kind of a pledge Dean?"

"I don't know exactly. My father would explain that in full, but it would involve you…submitting to him, deferring to him in some way, not fully now, but eventually—"

"No."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Get the fuck out."

"Michael, please."

"Tom. Throw Mr. Winchester out and make sure he gets to his car. Do not allow him back on the premises."

"Michael, please!"

"Get. Out."

Tom opens the door. A dude, already shirtless, is standing there. "Oh, perfect. My one o'clock," Michael says. "Send him in."

"Who's this?" Buddy asks looking at me.

"No one."

"Fine. Fuck you, Michael."

"No. He's going to do that."

"Good. Enjoy your fucking self. I will too! Maybe I'll find someone I actually mean something to."

"Tom. Remove him. Now."

"Don't worry Tom. I'm going."

"Who was that?" I hear as I'm leaving.

"No one. Just my fucking stalker."

~DM~

I try to get past Daddy when I get home, cause I don't want him to see me fucking crying, but he's waiting for me.

"Awww… Sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"He kicked me out. It's over."

"He's just mad."

"No. I think he meant it this time."

He sighs. "This is my fault baby boy. I'm sorry."

"No way. This isn't your fault. You were just right, he needed to know what Sunday dinner means—It's better this way. I'm just upset now, but I'll get over him."

"He'll come around; always does."

"Maybe I don't want him to this time."

Daddy's trying real hard to keep his cool for my sake, but I can tell even he wants to go knock some sense into Michael this time. "Go'on up and wash your face. I could use a hand in the kitchen."

"You made your special pot roast didn’t you?"

"Only because your father said I could."

Meaning tonight was special to him too, even though he hates Michael. "Good riddance—Michael's a dick."

Daddy swats my ass. "Dean Winchester."

"Well he is and I'm not sorry."

"If I hear any more like that I'm going to make you sorry, Sur."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir."

~DM~

During dinner, I have to explain what happened with Michael to father in a way that won't send him into a homicidal rage. He's quiet a long time and he simply looks… disappointed.

"What? No, I told you so's Dean? No happy dances you'll never have to see that jerk again?"

"I'll hate anyone who wants to be with my little boy—no one's good enough—but I know you love him Dean. I could never gloat about being right when it's something that's hurt you so, Angel. He doesn't fucking deserve you." Michael being an angel hasn’t tarnished his nickname for me. It's like it means something different when he uses it for me.

Daddy gives him a warning look for his cursing, but knows now's not the time to say anything. Father's offering me kind words, but he wants to kill Michael for hurting me—I think this time Daddy'd let him.

"Thanks, Papa."

~DM~

Two weeks pass. I don't speak to Michael. Sure I see glimpses of him at Babylon, but that's fucking it. I can only really go on Saturdays without my parents becoming suspicious, but it's enough times to get my fuck on—the best way to get over someone… is to get _over_ someone. Right?

That's what I'm doing in the backroom currently and what I did last Saturday. I'm in the middle of a really great cock suck, when said cock suck is ripped off my dick. "Fuck off." A low growl says. It's Michael. Did you expect any less?

The guy runs. He slams his hand against the marble by my head, hard; it cracks and spiders. Michael doesn't have a lot of angel juice, but it's enough to make him a little stronger and a little more durable than a human. It's why he won't get cancer or other diseases, but he can still be hurt if you hit him hard enough. He won't die though, unless you kill that small bit of grace inside of him with an angel blade. Michael is technically an archangel—least he was created as such, but he's too weak to really be considered that now. A regular angel blade could kill him. It's enough that I fear him the teeniest, tiniest bit. Of course that fear only serves to fucking excite me.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Now that I see him up close, I can see that he doesn't look so good, which is fucking weird. I mean, even with the low level of grace Luci-dick allows him, I've never seen Michael look less than perfect—well, excluding all the times he shows up beat up when he's had to go do angel stuff, sent by said dick. He actually looks… burnt out.

"I was getting my cock sucked, what did it look like I was doing?"

He tries to kiss me; and it's all I've fucking wanted for two god damned weeks, but I've got to push him away. I have to struggle though, 'till he realizes his advances are unwanted—I usually always want him, even after we fight, but this time I'm still pissed. "What's wrong with you?"

"Get the fuck off me."

He releases me, but his dark eyes follow my movements.

"You kicked me out, or has your perfect angel brain malfunctioned?"

"I've changed my mind."

I start doing up my pants. "I haven't. I fucking hate you. I never want to see you again." That's not fucking true; he knows it.

"How many guys have you fucked?"

"None of your fucking business."

That enrages him. "You are my fucking business, Dean. You'll always be my fucking business, whether you want to be, or not."

Everyone's staring at us. "Fuck off, Michael." I start to walk away.

"Walk away from me and I'll have them drag you to my place—it won't be pleasant."

By 'them' he means his thug angel dick mafia.

"Get them to fucking drag me to your place. I'll just sit there, and not fucking talk to you."

"Least I'll know you're okay."

"It's almost my curfew anyway." It's not really, but it's probably the only thing that'll get him to not drag me to his house. "I'm going home, Michael."

I'm right. He let's me walk past him.

~DM~

On Sunday, Father, Daddy and I are just sitting down to dinner when the doorbell rings. We all shrug at each other and have equal looks of shock when Michael strolls through the door. He's not his usual well-groomed self. He's really let his vessel go; a five o'clock shadow instead of his usual clean shaven face, an untucked shirt with more buttons undone than my father would consider appropriate for Sunday dinner; he's even got bags under his eyes and his hair is clearly 'I just had sex hair.' For a regular person, he still looks good, but for Michael, he looks awful. Except for maybe the hair—that looks fucking hot.

He places a bottle of white on the table; no one says anything for at least five minutes.

Daddy's the first one to action. "Donald—another setting if you please. Michael, welcome. Have a seat right there next to Dean."

Everyone's still quiet a long time, even after Michael's set up with a plate and cutlery. Father looks to me; this is my thing after all. Father may be our head of house, but who I love will always be my choice. I know what he's asking; I nod. I know which speech Father's going to give; that'll scare him away for good; it will be better that way.

"Welcome to our table Michael," Father begins. Of course Michael's been to our table before, but not like this. "Dean says you would like to attend Sunday dinners. That you wish to become part of our family—officially. Is this true?"

Michael pins my eyes with his as he tells father, "Yes, sir." For Michael, that's as close to 'I fucking do,' as it's ever going to get.

Daddy smiles.

"In that case you must be made aware of who we are and what we expect. Dean says you already know that our home is a domestic discipline home; that this is not a foreign concept to you?"

"That's correct, sir. I know what domestic discipline is. I lived during times when that's all there was."

"What you may not be familiar with; is the _Winchester Way_ , and I suppose mine and Sam's way," he adds smiling at Daddy who smiles back at him and it's like the first time either of them has ever seen the other. Sometimes I get a bit jealous—though I'm mostly happy for them—I wish Michael and I could look at each other that way.

"I'll explain how we do things. Since you and Dean are not yet married, you are not subject to all our rules, but we do expect you to follow two simple ones. The first: You do not miss Sunday dinner unless you have my express permission. If you miss, there is a consequence you will be expected to willingly submit to. This is to show your commitment to our ways and to Dean. Is that understood?"

"It's understood, sir. Sir?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"I'm wondering if such an exception might be if my father requires me—he's quite hard to refuse."

Both my parents are aware of just how hard Lucifer is to refuse.

"Acceptable. I still expect as much notice as is possible."

"Noted, sir. And what would happen if Dean and I never decided to get married?"

Father sighs heavily. "The truth is, I would be uncomfortable with that, but after speaking with my extremely wise other half," he gives Daddy an adoring look. "I've realized we are the epitome of unconventional already and it would be hypocritical for me to define what 'committed' means between the two of you. However; at some point, Michael, I still expect you to make a full commitment to our family and our way. At the very least, when you are in our home. If not, I can no longer approve of this relationship." Father looks at me. He's serious. In some ways he's very much like Grampa Winchester. I respect him too much to ever disregard something of this magnitude.

"Yes, sir," I say.

"The second rule is one I don't think you'll have a problem with: Speak respectfully to both Dean's Daddy and I. You've always been respectful to both of us; I should have told you so. I of course hope you will extend the same courtesy to my son, but how you two define your relationship is up to the two of you. Which brings me to extending our offer of assistance in any way possible. One of the many purposes for such a dynamic is to define roles and our role as elders is to help guide your relationship. We hope both of you will come to us when you need help, whether it's just for advice, or even for something more physical."

'Physical help' means spanking. Daddy used to tell me that one day I'd ask someone to spank me even when I hadn't disobeyed, that spankings could be calming, freeing. I told him he sounded crazier than an outhouse rat—an expression I learned from Uncle Dal. But I've already learned from being with Michael how true that is.

"Yes, sir," Michael says.

"All right then. I welcome you, son."

Huh. I thought I'd feel embarrassed hearing Father give that speech for the first time—he'd told me many times roughly how the speech goes and it'd always made me feel a bit squirmy.

But I don't feel any embarrassment or squirminess now. Just pride. Pride for our family and for my father for executing it so eloquently. It couldn't have been easy considering.

But I'm smiling like a loon at him, so that's gotta mean something to him. Even Michael looks impressed.

"You've always been a Winchester here, Michael, but now it's official. Welcome," Daddy says.

"Thank-you, sir." He's so formal, I'm having a hard time reading him; not sure what he thinks of everything.

"Dean. Would you please pray for us?" Daddy asks.

I'm highly tempted to lighten the mood with one of Uncle Jensen's humorous prayers, but it’s the way wrong time. I decide on short and sweet and of course Daddy gets tears in his eyes considering what tonight means. It's just another way I'm growing up. If he weren’t approaching fifty, I'd let him shoot me up with Modlenol and raise me again.

We eat and even I get a glass of wine to celebrate the occasion—they of course don’t know about the drinking I do at parties and now Babylon. I'll make sure to come clean about my fake ID, when I'm forty.

The dinner goes well.

When we're finished, Michael asks if he 'may take me for a walk on the grounds.'

"You don’t have to be so formal with us Michael, but maybe keep that formality in your back pocket should you see my father again."

~DM~

He takes my hand, which he hardly ever does. The sun's only just starting to go down. I decide to fucking tease him before I ream him out. "So, I want ten kids, and six ponies and the wedding will be here. We'll say our vows on the playground, where I punched you in the nuts for the first time."

He yanks my arm and taps my ass. I smile before I glare at him.

"So now that song and dance is over, explain your fucking self. Don't think I've forgiven you yet."

"Isn't it enough that I came to this little indoctrination? I'm a fucking Winchester now, apparently."

"You fucking hurt me Michael."

"Don't be such a baby. I always kick you out; it's what I do. You tell me to fuck off. Then I come and kiss your ass, figuratively, for a bit, before I kiss it literally."

"You meant it this time."

"Calm down. That's why I came.. to win you back. Look at me. I'm a fucking mess without you Dean."

"You're a mess, yet I bet every can in your pantry is organized alphabetically, and by expiry date."

He nods.

"And you hand washed the bottoms of all your shoes?"

He nods shamefully. "And I couldn't get the fucking dust off. I fired my cleaning lady, because she was clearly doing a deplorable job and dusted for eight hours straight."

He means dusted the same room for eight hours straight. "Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

"Because I knew I needed to do something big this time and short of fucking proposing this was the best I could come up with."

"You could have come last Sunday."

"I was still pissed at you."

"I didn't do shit."

"No, you didn't."

"And you're an asshole."

He sighs. "I'm an asshole."

Jesus Christ, I broke Michael. He's never fucking admitted that no matter how hard I've tried, or how big of an asshole he's been—and believe me, he's been a bigger asshole than this.

"So is it enough… Duckling?" He gives a wry half smile.

"You do not call me duckling, Sur. No way. Uh-uh."

"Your daddy calls you Pumpkin Butter and I can't call you duckling?"

"No."

"Sugar bun?"

"EW."

"Puddin'?"

"Taken."

"Taken?"

"Long story. Don't ask."

"Petal?"

"Now you're just trying to piss me off."

"Princess?"

"Fuck-you. I don't need a nickname from you. Dean'll do just fine."

"Sparkles."

"Vetoed."

"I'll call you whatever the fuck I like, my dirty little whore." He bites my lip with a kiss. He can call me that—I fucking love when he talks dirty to me. "And? Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Will you resume prior relations with me?"

"Will I become your guy you fuck more than once guy again, you mean?"

"Yeah. Will you?"

I don’t answer him right away. The thing I'm struggling with is that I'm too fucking easy—the truth is, I 'd already taken him back the minute he came in the fucking door looking all sad and pathetic. You know? Had me at hell fucking oh?

"Decide now, or I'll decide for you."

"You're a real prick you know that? But yeah, we can resume 'prior relations.'"

"Good."

I don't like the way he says that. Something's on his mind.

"Now that we're playing house, I have a new rule for you." Aaaand, there it is.

"You're not my head of house Michael."

"Call me, or don't call me whatever you want, but I make the fucking rules and you obey them. That's the way it's always been."

We'll see. "What's your rule, Michael?"

"I figured out why I've been having a hard time watching you with other guys when you're at Babylon."

He's been having a hard time watching me with other guys? That's news to me. He usually doesn't care. I mean he's been a bit jealous, a very little bit recently, but I figured instead of just _knowing_ I fuck others, he was actually _seeing_ it and that's what made it harder. But it's clearly something that's been bothering him; he's been thinking about it even after.

"Enlighten me."

"I'm worried about you. Concerned. I mean, what if he rapes you? Hurts you? What if he takes you home and ties you up in his basement?"

"Seriously? I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Every one hundred and seven seconds, another American is sexually assaulted Dean."

"Yeah. Well not me. I'd cut their dick off, or die trying."

His whole body fucking tenses. "That's just the thing, you could die and I—I'd never survive it Dean."

That's as close to 'I love you,' as Michael gets. I of course decide not to remind him that I'm going to die at some point—he will eventually have to watch me die. I'm human and he's a fucking angel. Besides, this whole round of bullshit, while there may be some truth to what he's saying, is more to do with the simple fact he doesn't want anyone else to touch me and he doesn't want to fucking admit it. He knows I'll never give him a one-way street; if I'm faithful to him than he must be to me too.

"So what cockamamie scheme have you concocted to keep me 'safe' from all the sexual male predators?" Aside from him of course.

"I interview everyone before they dance with you."

"You don't have enough grace for mind-reading, Michael."

"I don't need to mind read. Live as long as me, and you'll be able to read humans just based on body language alone too. I'll know their intentions, it will make me feel much better."

"No fucking way, Michael."

His eyes darken.

"Seriously, fuck off." I can't believe we're already fucking fighting again. "You're not hand selecting my fuck partners Michael. I know exactly how that's going to go. If you want me to be just yours, you can have me. But you're mine too."

"No."

"Then, no."

"Just let me do it for one night, and if—please Dean?"

I fucking hate it when he says please. I'm conditioned and he only says it when he really is concerned. Plus, if he hadn't of said that, his fingers are digging in to my biceps to tell me the level of concern he's reached.

That's when it clicks in for me—his need to have control, like with his fucking angel brand OCD. Control, or he thinks I'm going to die. My father has a similar thing, so I understand it some—it's a need Michael can't control, but sometimes tries to and when he does, it never ends well for either of us. I've noticed Michael getting worse, especially recently. Michael must notice, but be in fucking denial as usual.

But part of me doesn't want to just give in. It was different for Daddy. Father was willing to be with him—just him.

"One night."

He pulls me to him and nods into my neck. "I can't protect you if I… if I can't…"

"Yeah. I know."


	3. The One Where Everyone's Mad at Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's up with Michael. Dean's a brat. Never-the-less, Sunday dinner must go on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter I had a great question from natila_gra WRT the structure of the Winchester family. It was then answered perfectly by LittleDetails87. So with permission, I wrote LittleDetials87's answer into the chapter. 
> 
> LittleDetails87's explanation is far better than mine, so please refer to the actual comment (in last chapter's comments section) for a most fabulous explanation. 
> 
> I'm very interested to hear responses to this chapter. It's, interesting. Hope you enjoy.

"Hey Tom."

I complain about Tom, because he's an angel dick and one that's usually doing most of the throwing of me out; but I actually don't mind him as much as the others. Besides, he's just obeying orders. In the back of my mind, I have thoughts that the more angels on our side, well, on Michael's side, maybe one day we can end Lucifer.

That's the only way Michael can be free of him—he won't let go of him, it's obey him or be turned back into a little kid. Luci-dick (oh how I love calling him that) has this idea that it he just 'raises Michael right' Michael will honor him as his true father. That's how Lucifer would like Michael to see him. If you want to get technical, they're brothers, but God cast them out of Heaven. Well he cast Lucifer out of Heaven; Michael _offered_ to tag along.

For Lucifer, it was punishment. Lucifer hates humans; God stuck him here forever, in a permanent vessel, to watch over the human race with the promise that if he does a good job that perhaps one day he could be allowed back in Heaven (I doubt that'll ever happen). God, sent Michael to watch over and help his brother, be his voice of reason.

Lucifer was quickly able to start his own angel mafia down here on Earth. He may not be set on annihilating us, he can't exactly, but he aims to control us, someday. He's been slowly gaining power: Lukas Godfrey is one of the most powerful men in the world.

His control extends to Michael.

He took most of Michael's grace leaving him with only enough to sail his vessel. Whenever Michael has seriously disobeyed him, he de-ages him with the idea that he will be more obedient the more Michael believes Lucifer to be his father rather than his brother.

Sometimes I think Lucifer was right.

I haven't heard Michael call Lucifer his brother since the last time he was de-aged. It's like he does believe Lucifer is his father now. He never disobeys Lucifer anymore—least he hasn't in a long time, no matter what's he's told to do—and Michael won't talk about what Lucifer has him do. The one plus side; since Michael has been so well behaved, he's been granted many freedoms, which is why he has his own loft and set of angels to 'Lord over.'

In a twisted, really super fucked up way, Lucifer cares for Michael. In his own psychopathic mind, he believes he's showing Michael the light.

"It's good to see you back, Dean."

It is? His head gestures around the apartment. Michael's been… busy.

"Shit, Tom." Michael's condo is always spotless; Magda his (prior) cleaning lady sees to that, but this is beyond anything she could do. If you could fucking sand marble counter tops to get them to shine—well that's what it looks like he's done. I'd be afraid to take a white glove to this place in case the white glove would make it dirty.

I do a quick look through the cupboards—yep, every fucking can perfect, every box of anything, aligned. Michael does need to eat, I've learned over the years, but not as much as you or I. So while he doesn't eat all the time, he can (to be socially acceptable) and even requires it to some extent.

"Sir is in his office," Tom says.

He's not expecting me. I go in without fucking knocking, just to piss him off a bit, but I'm the one that's standing with his mouth open. His office is in a different state than the rest of his condo, but it's a recent mess; he's on the phone with Lucifer.

"Yes, Father." He throws a stack of papers. "I'll see to it." He freezes. "Yes, I'll be there for dinner, sir." He swipes all the shit off his desk. When he hangs up, I have to fucking duck as his phone flies across the room.

I lift my eyebrows at him. In other words: 'What the fuck?'

"Nothing you need to worry about. Come."

I 'come' as beckoned, prick, but the kiss he gives me is worth it. Michael and I do have something: Fucking kissing. Also the sex of course, but there's something about the way he kisses me. Especially knowing that now, he only kisses me.

He pulls away, I pant heavily.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, I was on the way to the beach with some friends—"

"Beach? Friends? Since when do you have friends?"

"I've always had friends—you know that—well, acquaintances really. You know how Daddy worries? It's my biweekly 'friend' hang out. It's really Hannah and I meeting up with kids from our school."

"Your parents allowed this?"

Did he miss the first part? I laugh. "Even Father knows; told me not to get sand in my shorts."

Michael looks pissed. I have no clue why. I've gone lots of places, with lots of people; it's never pissed him off.

"Something wrong?"

"No. I'm just busy. What do you want?"

I could've sworn he was fucking happy to see me moments ago, now he's an ass again. "What's your fucking problem? I stopped to see you, maybe even fuck you, but fuck, why do I fucking bother?" Think I could have fit anymore fucks in there?

"It seems like everyone in 'the family' knew you were going to the beach _except_ for me. Shouldn't you be asking _me_ if you might go to places like that?" He's treating the beach as if I said whorehouse.

"No. I shouldn't. I don't even have to 'ask' my parents. I merely told them."

"Get, out."

"No. Not fucking this again. You kick me out, I swear I'm not taking you back next time."

He looks me over to see if I'm serious and when he sees I am he says: "Fine. Would you please leave and return at a time more convenient?"

Better, but it's not that much different, except now I know he just wants to cool down before he decides to throttle me.

"No. You're just pissed at me and for no reason," I sigh. "Look, I was hoping you'd pound me into your desk." I'm hoping that will get us out of this ridiculous argument. Sex is usually a good way to distract Michael.

But he's not distracted this time; he's thinking and that's never fucking good.

"I'm coming with you."

"To the beach? You want to hang out with a bunch of fucking teenagers at the beach?"

"No. I want to hang out with you at the beach. The others I'll have to tolerate."

"I'm going to see you tonight. I don't think—" But he's already walked away from me and out the door of his office. I follow him to his bedroom.

"Michael—"

"I haven't been to the beach in ages," he says conversationally, like it's completely fucking normal for him to go to the beach. Maybe someone should tell him it isn't, least not in my experience. "How about this?" He holds up a tank top, which I've never seen him wear without a shirt overtop—is that even his? Where'd he get that?

"Do they still build sandcastles at your age? I _suppose_ I'll help you build one."

I laugh at him. "What are you doing? You're being ridiculous. I'll just, I'll see you tonight." I turn to go.

Michael loses his playful demeanor. "If I don't go; you don't go."

That stops me in my tracks. I should tell him to fuck off; I'm about to, but then I remember the cans. Something's going on for Michael, something he probably doesn't even know is going on himself. And it's not the whole 'he won't admit he loves me thing.' Sure he doesn't say it, it's because Michael's not a sappy fucker like my parents, I know he loves me, or at least cares for me a great deal (despite what I might say when I'm moping), everyone else knows it too—this is something else. I think he needs the something inside of him that worries about me 'stroked' so to speak.

I'm not talking about his cock—get your mind out of the gutter—it's a thing inside of him; a feeling sure, but I'm more apt to call it an itch: A compulsion.

It's even there in his eyes, asking me not to fucking question him and just not be a shithead for once; that's why it's even more important for me to give him a 'normal-Dean-like' response.

"Now who's the fucking Duckling?"

~DM

"What's the matter Dean? Uncomfortable?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking uncomfortable. My ass is probably red."

"I know it is," he says not feeling sorry for me in the least. "Made sure it was in fact."

"You're so fucking touchy."

He's smiling. At least him spanking me seems to ease his fucking internal anguish. I shake my head. He's driving and I'm in fucking shotgun. Figure that one out. He never lets me drive when we're in a car together, claiming his angel sight and reflexes are far superior to mine and thus less chance of an 'automobile accident.' That's how he phrases it in his sometimes, anachronistic way of speaking.

He also thinks I'm a reckless driver.

I'm trying not to stare at him. You should see him right now, in his grey tank with the white piping, white board shorts and sandals (other items I didn't know he had). But what completes the look, are his black sunglasses. Michael looks hot in sunglasses. Jesus—everyone's going to be doing a double take.

You're not going to believe I'm saying this; but I usually feel pretty inadequate with Michael. Don't get me wrong; I know I'm hot, I just know my level of hot and he's far above it.

He gets pissed when I tell him we have to pick up Hannah, who I can only shrug at when she sees us pull up in his Jeep. I couldn't explain his deal if I wanted to and Lord knows I've tried.

We make it to the beach. There are a bunch of kids from school; some playing volleyball, some tanning, some just chillin' and drinking brewskies (subtly). Hannah tells me she'll be right back, leaving me alone with grouch-o, and finds a group of girls.

"I fucking hate the beach."

"They why did you come?"

He ignores my question. "It's too hot here."

"Here. Go get us some ice cream," I say trying to stuff money into his hand; he just lets it drop to the ground, with a dark look that's asking if I'm stupid.

"All right. You buy it then. I don't give a shit. Just, go'on."

He's pissed, but he storms away. Asshole. I look for a place to lay our towels down, I plan on getting my tan on. I don't love the beach, but I don't mind the beach. I like the sun and laying in it once in awhile. I peel off my shirt and don't bother with sunscreen for now. I hate that shit, but don't worry, I'll put it on in a bit; if I get burnt, Daddy'll kill me.

I'm not there long when a kid from school, Anthony, invites himself to lay on _Michael's_ towel. I don't see Michael around, he must have got lost looking for ice cream (without wings, he's got no internal GPS) but I should still lose this guy before Michael sees him; he will hurt him.

"Heya Dean! I didn't think you'd come, but I'm glad you did."

This is getting worse. He's hitting on me—he's fucking hitting on me. I know he hasn't said much, but guys don't just say shit like that unless they want to fuck. Thing is, Anthony is hot. Like, _hot_ -hot. I don't want to pass him up, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I'm _here with_ Michael. Do you know how pissed he'll be if he sees me flirting back with this guy? There are limits to our relationship, I've learned not to fucking toy with. I mean, in the not so distant past, I would have tried to make Michael jealous on purpose.

There was a time where making him jealous was a novelty and harder to do. But since we began fucking, things have changed and then changed further over the past couple weeks, something tells me he might very well kill this guy; making him jealous is a bad idea.

I tell him something in between. I want to make sure I can fuck this guy at a later date. "I'm actually here on a date, nothing serious, Sugar. You going to be at the Miller party next weekend?" Okay, fuck. That's flirting. I can't help it; comes naturally to me. And over time, I've somehow managed to take my daddy's affectionate term he uses for everyone and use it for seducing people.

"Wouldn't miss it Dean," he says coyly.

"Okay, well you better go. Now's not the best time."

"Don't want to piss off your 'date,' got it," he smiles. Anthony has a nice smile. "I'll see you next weekend Dean."

He leaves and I look for Michael again—still don't see him. Crisis a fucking verted. My heartbeat stops thudding in my chest, which I hadn't even noticed 'till now.

I get back to tanning and it's not long after that I'm practically accosted by Melissa—she outright drapes herself over me and starts snuggling into my neck. We've already fucked and I don't give seconds, but apparently that's what she's looking for. "Dean."

I carefully peel her away from me, but our positions still don't look great with the way I'm holding her wrist and she's still trying to kiss me. "Watch the lips baby girl." To her I do lie, sort of. "I'm here with my boyfriend."

Girls are a little better at understanding terms that have to do with 'commitment' than dudes seem to be. She looks around. "Shit. Sorry Dean. I just thought I'd surprise you—we had fun last time, didn't we?"

A lot of them, girls, even the pretty ones like Melissa are insecure. I press her nose. "We sure did, Sugar. But I think you should run along before he sees me with a delicious thing like you—he might get jealous."

"Okay, Dean. See you next weekend?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Fuck. What the hell happened to Michael?

Hell. I'll even take Hannah, where'd she get off to?

Thankfully I get a five minute reprieve, but I'm not surprised at all the attention I'm getting—not only am I the second hottest thing here, but the beach is a bit of a meat market. Shit. Wait a second. Fucking Michael—I'll bet that's why he didn't want me coming here alone. This is the sand and sun version of Babylon.

Next I'm approached by a whole crowd of guys; there are four. "Oh Dean, hey—we were looking for one more for our V-ball team. You in?"

Huh. Might be fun. I'm about to tell them yes and for once I don’t think I'm being hit on, but all Michael sees as he approaches are four hot shirtless guys surrounding me. He pushes past them like the asshole he is and hands me the ice cream he got for me.

"Who the fuck is this asshole Dean?" Aaron asks.

"I'm Michael. And you're leaving." He puts his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. Normally I'd love such an outright territory marking, but right now I'm just pissed.

"Your boyfriend's a prick Dean," Aaron informs me as he walks away and his 'team' follows. I won't argue with that and Michael doesn't bother to correct them on the boyfriend thing, probably since they're meaningless to him.

But speaking of which, he is acting like a jealous boyfriend today, it's all you've seen, but it's really not like him. What's going on with him?

When they're gone, I wiggle out of his hold and plop down on the towels. I'm not sure how to deal with him today and my brain searches through memories of Daddy and Father; things they've taught me about each other. I'm still off thinking, while he's issuing complaints about me, but I catch: "It's no wonder everyone's throwing themselves at you; you're practically flaunting yourself." He grabs my shirt and throws it at me. "Put this on, _now_."

"Where's your ice cream?" I ask ignoring his order.

"Over there." He points. In the sand is a lump of melting ice cream with a smashed cone. "The cone broke."

Yeah, when he crushed it seeing me surrounded by hotties. Serves him right.

"Here. Let's share," I say pushing it to his lips.

He shoves me away. "I don't want any." It was supposed to cool him off, but whatever.

He's got a funny look on his face; one I don't understand—I'm not sure I've ever seen it. I still don't know what to do about him. I wish Daddy were here; he's the fucking expert on translating Michael—I don't know how he does it, but he does. I mean, I am aware there are similarities between Michael and Father, but they aren't exactly alike. Daddy still 'gets' him more than I do; it's one of the reasons Michael's always felt soothed in Daddy's presence, I'm sure.  
__  
I know. Sex. That's a sure fire way to distract Michael from whatever stupid thing he's thinking about. Probably pummeling the sexy high-school boys with no shirts. I pretend my ice cream is his cock and I lick it and put as much in my mouth as will fit. "Mmmm… This is good, but it's not quite as good as your dick—let's find somewhere we won't get arrested, huh?"

"Stop it."

What the? Stop it? I go back to eating my ice cream properly. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don’t want to be here."

"So? Go. I'll find a ride back to my car."

"From one of these drinking yahoos?"

"Someone'll be sober. If not I'll get a cab. It's not like I don't have money."

"No, Dean."

"Fine. You drive me back to Baby, I'll drive her back here. It's a pain in the fucking ass, but I can do that."

"Are you going to play volleyball with those guys?"

"I don't know."

"Will that slut in the gold bikini come back to rub herself against your cock again?"

He saw that? "No. She wasn't on my cock, Michael—you're over reacting."

"How about that dark haired kid with the small dick?"

He doesn't know that. "What about him?"

"You were flirting with him."

"So? Should I start in on how many guys you fucked yesterday alone?"

"Never when I'm _supposed_ to be with just you. If you drop by unannounced, I can't help that."

Well, yeah, but—

"Are you even wearing sunscreen?"

"That defeats the purpose of tanning."

"The sun causes skin cancer in humans."

"So does sunscreen."

"Must you argue everything?"

What? It's what we do. _We've_ always argued everything. "When you're being unreasonable, yes."

"I'm just trying to protect you."

"You're being like a helicopter parent."

He doesn't take kindly to that, his eyes darken. There's no pleasing him today, even sex didn't work, so I'm going to go for the 'old fuck you, but I'll do what you say, eventually.'

"Look. I'll tan for an hour then I'll slather myself in sunsperm. Jesus Christ."

I can _feel_ how fucking icy he is from beside me. I try not to let it bother me, but it fucking does. I lie on my back and put my shirt over my eyes and try to let the hot sun eclipse his ire.

I can't see him, but I know he's thinking. That's probably not good. Michael is a fuck load smarter than I am. It all comes from living for a long time. I try not to let that bother me either.

I almost jump when I hear his voice sometime later. "I thought part of playing house Winchester was that you obey me?"

At least now I see why he did it. Probably thought I'd do whatever he said with no arguments. "Not when you're just being a jealous prick."

"Really? So there are conditions to when and how your daddy obeys your father? To when and how you obey Papa Winchester?"

Um, definitely not. "That's besides the point. We're—"

"Not serious enough for you? Apparently, we're serious enough for Papa Winchester, but not for junior? He allowed me into your circle Dean. He called me 'son.' He fucking hates the very air I breathe, but he called me son. This isn't enough for you?"

"We're not exclusive, Michael. We need to be exclusive if you want me to agree to a set of rules."

"That's not how I understood it." It's very ominous the way he says that.

"Well I've been living the Winchester Way a lot longer than you have—trust me—I know how it works."

He doesn't say anything after that. Like, nothing. I tan. I put on the sunscreen like I promised him. He doesn't like it, but I leave to play volleyball, I drink one beer—just one—I joke around with Hannah, I try to talk to Michael with no luck, and I should be having an all around good time. I _look_ like I'm having an all around good time and I am, mostly. But something's fucking nipping at me; something's going to happen and I'm not going to like it.

~DM~

Michael has to cancel our outing to Babylon that night. Luci-dick calls him and he has to go running. We already dropped Hannah off and we're on our way back to his loft, not having spoken for hours. And by the way, I can't tell if he's mad, or what the fuck he is. I mean, I usually know if he's mad. This doesn't seem like that, but he's definitely not pleased.

This is what happened. His phone rang. The moment he looked his at the call display I knew who it was just by the look on his face. "Father?"

He's silent then there's a simple, "yes, sir." He hung up and chucked his phone. "Tonight's off."

If he's going to be fucking quiet; so am I. Yeah, I knew full well what he meant by 'tonight is off,' that neither of us were going, but I decided to take that differently: That he's simply no longer going as my date. I nodded. He remained an angel on mute the rest of the way back to the loft and my car. I went to Babylon and had a great fucking time. Marcus, Will _and_ Emmett were there. I bought them all drinks, I chilled with them, I fucked two guys—everything's great.

~Sunday~

For the first time I have a fucking headache when I wake up after a night at Babylon. I didn't drink anymore than usual, but I did have that beer earlier in the day, I think it messed up my groove.

I shower, get ready for church and head down for some fucking delicious coffee and try to pretend like my head isn't pounding. "'Morning Daddy," I say.

"'Morning sweetheart." He hands me a cup and I sit at the island. Sweet Jesus it tastes good—like heaven. I don't even need to go to church this morning—I'll just pray over this cup of fucking holy water.

"This coffee's fantastic! Is there any breakfast?"

Daddy laughs at me. "Your father's taking us out after church."

"Please tell me there's a snack."

"Of course. I know my boy." He moves off to get me food; my phone vibrates in my pocket. Daddy practically begged father years ago to let him make some of our meals. Father finally relented and allowed him to make breakfasts and lunches, but dinners are still fairly formal. Especially (no doubt) Sundays.

I take another sip of my coffee before I pull out my phone—this coffee's the fucking best—have I said that yet? Yes? I don't fucking care. You're going to hear that at least twelve more times.

It's from Michael; he's already pissed at me for something: _You're in a world of trouble._

I can't deal with him right now; it's too fucking early for angst, so I continue to enjoy my coffee, but there's a squirmy feeling in my stomach. I'm not as stupid as I sometimes pretend to be. I mean, I knew he wouldn't _like_ me going to Babylon, especially since he was going to do this weird 'pick-my-fuck-partner' thing, but…

Daddy's made me up some fruit and scones, butter and Nana's homemade jam. It's fucking delicious.

"Pre-game snack?" Father says when he comes in; Daddy gives him a coffee too and a scone.

"Yep." My phone vibrates again.

Michael again; of course: _Nothing?_ It says.

As if I've got nothing to do but answer his texts. "Dean. What have I told you about answering that thing during meals?"

"Sorry Papa. I didn't realize this was an official meal."

"I suppose not, but put it away, please."

"Yes, sir. It's only Michael anyway," I say as I pocket it.

"Oh. Well, be quick then."

Yes it was Papa who said that; no I can't believe it. Daddy laughs at the expression on my face. "When we have more time, Dean Bean, I'll tell you the story of the first rule your father made for me. He wanted to know where I was every second of every minute of every day."

"Did not," Father says putting his arms around Daddy.

"You did too, Castiel Winchester. So? What did Michael want for your first rule? You supposed to text him when you wake up; let him know you're alive?" He's excited something akin to as if I'd gone on my first date.

 _Um, what?_ That's my response, but Daddy looks so fucking happy, I don't want to let on that we're _so_ not on the same page. "Oh he's just returning something from last night," I lie.

"When he gets in then," Daddy says to Papa. "That is more Michael's style."

Papa smiles ear to ear. "We're so proud of you Dean."

I'm confused. "But you hate, Michael."

"I do dislike many things about Michael, but he's there when it's important and he loves you. I can work with that. Not to mention, Michael's a good choice in other regards; he'll fit in with 'our way.' He's exactly what you need."

Huh? I take a big bite of scone, so my parents can't read the internal mind fuck that's happening for me right now. Did I wake up in opposite land?

"Aren't you going to get back to him, Dean?" Father says.

"Yes, sir."

This is weird; I pull out my phone again.

"And Michael may attend church with us at anytime—he doesn't have to yet, but if he'd like—feel free to invite him to breakfast."

I think my father has suffered severe head trauma—that must be it. Michael hasn't attended church for a long time. There was a time when Lucifer made him go, but not now.

And even if he hadn't sent such a foreboding text; after our fucked up beach day yesterday, I wouldn't have wanted to invite him anyway.

I quickly text back: _Fuck off, Michael_. And pretend to be oblivious to several more vibrations from my pocket as I enjoy more coffee, scones and conversation with my parents.

By the time church has ended and our impromptu family breakfast (for which I had to make excuses as to why Michael wasn't there) Michael has text me six more times. I feel like I'm swarmed in shit I don't know how to deal with; this is becoming problematic. Fuck. To top it off, Daddy can tell something's up. "Everything okay, Dean Bean?"

"Everything's fine Daddy." Another lie.

When we get home, I head up to my room to change and call Michael. I guess I should just be happy he's speaking to me today. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

"I was with my parents at _church_."

"After last night, I think I'm entitled to a little bit more than 'fuck off.' Explain yourself."

"Explain myself? What's there to explain? I went to Babylon last night like I have been every Saturday for the past few weeks."

"I told you I couldn't go."

"You couldn't go. I could."

"We had a deal, one you agreed to."

"And I'll keep my end of the 'deal,' for the next time we go."

"I know you're not stupid. You couldn't have possibly though that's what I meant. You may be able to play dumb for your parents, Dean, but not for me. Get over here, _now_." He hangs up.

Fuck. I sigh heavily.

I'm on my way out, but I go through the kitchen where I know Daddy will be, he's reading a book by the bay window. "Just popping out real quick," I say kissing his cheek. "You need anything, Daddy?"

"I'm good sweetheart." He's smiling. "Your father and I will be out for the day too. We'll see you at dinner."

Tom opens the door to Michael's loft; I don't like the look on his face. "He's said for you to go straight in, sir."

I go through to his office. He doesn't even pretend he wasn't waiting for me. "What took you so long?"

"I came straight here—I had to let Daddy know I was going out. Calm the fuck down."

"I am calm Dean." I look at him again. And yeah, he is calm—I realize I'm the one who's not.

"Okay, well you're fucking making me nervous."

"Nervous? Why would you be nervous? You didn't _do_ anything. You never _do_ anything. Just like the other day with all the hunting business. You break rules, yet I'm the one being unreasonable for expecting you to own up."

"I already told you—"

"We're not serious enough for you. Yes. I remember. We'll worry about that another time, right now we're here to discuss your most recent transgressions."

"Transgressions? You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I'm not kidding. I asked you something, you said yes, then you disobeyed me."

"You didn't say I couldn't got to Babylon."

"I said the night was off. I meant for you too."

"You didn't say that."

"It's what I meant."

"I can't read your fucking mind," I huff. "Fine. I'm sorry. Let's just chalk this up to a misunderstanding."

"I would if that's what this was, but it isn't. Can you _honestly_ tell me you didn't know what I meant?"

Well, not honestly.

"You don't even need to answer that Dean. Your face tells me everything I need to know. You did know and you went anyway. I think we've established you've disobeyed me."

"But you didn't _say_."

"But you knew. You knew and you knew how I'd feel about it—that's disrespectful."

I can feel my cheeks heat, because yeah, I can't even fucking deny that. I've been over this one with my father too many times. 'Getting out of things (or I should say, _trying_ to get out of things) on technicalities' is a Dean Winchester special that doesn't fly in our home either, but I never cease to try.

I'm quiet now—I've got no argument for that.

"Good. That's number one. Number two; you know by now, when I text you I expect in the least to know where you are."

"It's Sunday Michael. You know I have church, I didn't have time to compose you a fucking text."

"Yet you had time to text me to fuck off."

Okay, so that wasn't my brightest move. You may be asking yourself; 'what should that matter?' You tell him to fuck off every five seconds. What's the difference between that and all the other times? Remember what I said about bickering and 'for real mad?'

Michael was 'for real mad' when he sent that text. I knew to be a lot more respectful than that and well you know the rest.

"Right, so two."

Nothing left to say, I look at the ground.

"Look at me Dean."

It's hard, but I do. "Do you understand why I'm going to punish you?"

I nod, the tears are already starting and he hasn't fucking touched me yet. And the fucked up thing? If he doesn't spank me—though I don't know in what universe he wouldn't—I'll carry this and the guilt will drive me mad.

My tears soften him marginally. "Pass me that over there," he's says even though he's right fucking beside it. His paddle. I walk over preferring to stare at it than look him in the eyes anymore, and snatch it up, passing it to him.

"Thank-you." He grabs my hand and pulls me over to the short black leather sofa in his office. I'm only wearing sweats and boxers so it's easy for him to pull those down to my ankles; he pulls me over his lap. He doesn't use the paddle right away, but it's not so he can 'warm me up' or whatever, my ass is no amateur when it comes to spanking; I'll just say that.

Michael starts in and it hurts, but my stream of tears isn't anything to do with that—not yet at least. I love Michael; I care about him; I've been an absolute ass. I didn't consider him at all and just fucking acted. It's funny how 'this' perspective, can bring so many new perspectives.

"Why didn't I want you to go to Babylon Dean? Why did I ask what I asked of you?"

"Because you were worried about me. I'm sorry, Michael."

"In case you haven't noticed," he says as he continues to spank my ass. "I've been losing my mind with worry over you. I know you've seen my cupboards. I ask you for one thing and you turn into a complete brat."

Turn into? Has he just met me? I've been a brat since day one.

He continues to spank me until he finally does start to bring pain to my backside; I can take quite a bit though, but at this point, I'm actually looking forward to the paddle and not in the way you're thinking—I'm not turned on right now in the least. I'm looking forward to the resolution it'll bring me.

When he's finished with part one he stands me up. "Okay Dean. I think that's enough. You've, learned your lesson," he says wryly. "I think you know what I expect of you."

I stare at him confused. "But what about?" I look my eyes over to his paddle as I wipe at my tears. Yeah, I know. Why the fuck am I even asking? Take the money and run Dean.

"Do you need that, Duckling?"

Remember what Daddy said? Someday I'd ask? You're going to think I'm as crazy as a piss ant. "Please."

"All right." He grabs it up. "How many?"

"Ten."

"Ten?" He quirks his brow.

In other words, I'm saying I feel it's the same severity as going on a hunt without his say so. To me, it is.

I nod.

"Very well. Back over you go."

I place myself back over his lap and he's not easy on me. I wouldn't want him to be. He's exactly what I need: Firm and consistent. When he's finished, he places the paddle to the side and rubs my back and my hot backside. "All better?"

"Yes. Thank-you." He pulls me off his lap, rights my clothing then pulls me between his legs. He uses his thumb to wipe away tears. "I'm s-sorry, Michael."

"Nuh-uh. You were a naughty boy, but the price is paid. Don't think anymore about it."

I sniffle and hug him around his neck. "What's going on with us?"

He sighs. "I don't know Dean. I just know I can't… You occupy my every thought."

"Then how come you can't be with just me? Why do you need all the others?"

"I'm not having that conversation with you again. Leave it," he growls, with a firm pat to my rear. He stands up and leans in to kiss me. "Now then. Tell me all about the sermon and I'll clarify what actually happened."

I tell him, but I 'Dean the sermon up' and make him laugh—Michael's a trillion times more beautiful when he laughs. But even his beauty's not enough to make me forget; we haven't discussed what happened at the beach. He said he'd get to it, but he never did. If he's going to let it go, so will I.

~Sunday Dinner~

I feel much better after a spanking from Michael. Nothing'd been sitting right since yesterday at the beach. I still have no idea what the fuck happened at the beach, but today was some kind of break through between Michael and I. I feel so fucking happy.

"Can we make Nana's biscuits, Daddy?" Father said we could make dinner; tonight can be Michael's first 'real' Sunday dinner since last Sunday we hadn't expected him.

"Sure, Sugar. How about you make them yourself? I'll just tell you what to put in them—that way you can tell Michael you made them for him."

I laugh. "I'll make'em Daddy, but he's not going to care. He can take or leave most food. Which reminds me, do we have beer? Michael likes beer."

"I think we have some. If not I'll send your father out."

Daddy wipes his brow and smiles; his dark hair falling across his cheek. He's got his apron on, the one he wears for serious cooking. I've got an apron too; I help Daddy a lot, we've had some good times cooking together. At first I balked when he said he was going to teach me; but he insisted it was a skill worth learning even if (as I had pointed out) I'd probably never have to cook for myself. He said it was a pride thing.

When I made my first pecan pie; I was so damn proud of myself, I phoned Nana Colt. Pecan pie is a son of a bitch to make. As usual, Daddy was right.

"Like Father's going to want to run an errand that involves doing something specially for Michael." Daddy likes to have errands for Father (instead of the staff) when he's in the kitchen—that's the one place he prefers not to be bothered by him, but he can't exactly say it to him. I'm sure Father knows.

"Papa gives Michael a hard time Dean, but it's only because he wants him to be suitable for you. He's well aware of who Michael is." An angel he means. "But he doesn't hate Michael."

"He suggested Michael for the piñata at my eighth birthday party."

Daddy laughs and so do I—that was pretty fucking funny. "He wasn't even going to allow him in the house for your last birthday. Do you remember that? He made you cry, I've never seen your father so mad."  
I laugh. "He made him beg on his knees to be let into the house."

"That's right and Michael did. You'd do well to remember, Sur."

"Hey! What did I do?" Daddy only says 'Sur' in mild chastisement. I know by now it's a warning.

"Your father didn't think he'd do it, maybe hoped is more accurate. But when he did—he knew that boy would do anything for you; it must have been embarrassing for him, but he didn't care he _had_ to see you, Dean. He still grinds Michael's gears, but he gained new respect for Michael. Maybe you should too."

My cheeks burn. How does Daddy always know everything?

"Did you know you bite your lip when you lie?"

"What? No I don't."

"You do. Learned that when you were about four. Do you think I really believed an owl flew in and knocked over my vase?"

I can't talk for a second. So, like, does he know every fucking time I lie?

He smiles smartly.

"You asked me all about that owl; I did think you believed me."

"You were so gosh darn cute, I just had to. Especially when you said, 'don't worry, Daddy—I salted him good, he's gone now.'"

I got away with murder when I was little and flipping cute.

"The owl story was harmless enough; now you're playing with fire. I wish you'd talk to me, but if you can't, at least go visit Uncle Dal?"

I should have known Daddy knows me too well to hide when something's wrong from him. I nod. "I will, Daddy. I just need to figure some stuff out on my own, you know?"

"I understand, and I agree that you're getting older and need to solve some of your own problems without Daddy and Papa, but you're not so great at asking for help in the best of times, Mister. You need to work on that. When you run out of ideas come to us."

"I'll ask for help."

"See that you do."

"Speaking of help, you think I can count on your help to convince father that I don't have to go to Texas for half of the summer?" I have big plans this summer. Now that 'things' seem to be happening with Michael, I don't want to leave so soon. School's over in a few weeks and I'll have to leave—Daddy usually comes with me.

I've still got one year of high school left, in case you were wondering. With the way everything's worked out with birthdays and being held back sometimes when I was younger, I'm going to graduate _next_ year. At least I'll graduate with Hannah. Usually they hold me back 'till my 'age' catches up as determined by Daddy and the doctor. Daddy always worried about me being behind the other kids, but Daddy speculates that as I've gotten older the difference has become less noticeable. Both my parents still question and worry over where I'm really at in regards to age and maturity. It's too much for me to figure out; I'm happy to let them do that for me.

Daddy laughs like I'm ridiculous. "You're funny sweetheart."

"I'm serious."

"There's no way he'll allow it Dean. You know it was the best he could work out with Grampa Winchester without Grampa Winchester raising a fuss."

"But I'm older now; it's different."

"Nothing's different, sweetheart—I think you can expect to go until he passes on. He still doesn't understand why you can't stay in Texas the whole summer, so he can get at least a month with you; he must start planning what he'll do with you the next year, from the day you leave. Besides, what about Nana and Grandaddy Colt? Your aunts, uncles, and cousins?"

That makes me feel a bit guilty; but not guilty enough. "Soooo will you ask him?"

"Oh no. I'm staying out of this. You're welcome to have that conversation with your father, but I'm warning you, I just know how it'll go and it won't go well. You're going to get yourself in trouble Dean Winchester."

Well, I'll think about that at least, but I also know with Father it's about timing. I'll wait 'till he's in a good mood, then I'll ask him. "Right, so these biscuits, what do I add next?"

~DM~

Father doesn't have to go get Michael beer, we have some and I get him one after he's come in. "So what did you do after I left? Or should I say who did you do?" I tease.

"College student—left much to be desired—I thought of you the whole time," he teases back kissing me with beer-flavored lips.

"Okay you two lovebirds, you ready to eat?" Daddy asks.

"Yes, sir," Michael says.

"Surely you can call me Sam now, Michael. You're family."

Michael looks uncomfortable with that. "You're still my superior, sir."

Daddy lets out a breath and shakes his head. "All right, all right. I tried."

We join Father. "Hello, Dean. Michael."

"Hello, sir."

"Hey, Papa." I give him a hug. Haven't seen him since church this morning.

We're served and we eat. Daddy was right (again) I feel fucking awesome when Michael compliments my biscuits and I get to tell him I made them. When we reach coffee and dessert that's when the mood at the table changes; Michael has questions.

"I've been thinking, since dinner last week about what you said; that at some point you would expect I commit to the family in full. I'd like to find out more about what that means, sir." He's speaking to my father.

"Of course Michael. Consider these dinners like a board meeting of sorts. While one of the main purposes of Sunday dinner is to bond as a family, the other is to discuss any familial matters. Please feel comfortable to do so."

"Thank-you, sir. I'm trying to understand the structure. I understand domestic discipline well enough, but from my experience it usually begins and ends with the couple; I've never seen it extend to the family in such a way."

"The Winchester family has been this way for many generations. It's in our blood to govern and to protect. We've found we cannot do that without control; things get too chaotic. My great-great-great-great grandfather created the Winchester Way and it's proven to be profitable. Everyone is kept accountable. We believe it creates a stronger family unit."

"I agree, sir. From what I've seen you have a strong family; you care for one another and respect each other very much. My questions are with regard to hierarchy. How does that work? You said I would have to 'submit' to your father and to particular rules? What would that mean exactly? I mean, if Dean and I were to marry someday, wouldn't I make rules for Dean?"

I'm speechless. Michael has never used the words 'Dean' and 'marry' in the same sentence. Is he being serious?

"These are good questions. Thank-you for taking such interest Michael. I did say 'submit,' but I should clarify that I meant you would be his subordinate, as am I. While my parents might issues mandates they believe are beneficial to the family, how I run my home is up to Sam and I. It would be the same for you—how you run your home will be decided between you and Dean, but you would also be expected to consider mandates from both my father's house and from ours. Sam and I are expected to make sure you implement these mandates. If not, there is punishment."

"I see. Grandfather Winchester is the General, you're his Colonel and I'd be a Captain?"

"Correct. Definitely our partners are our aides so to speak, Sam's my amazing vice commander," he pauses to smile at Daddy. "But final rulings are by the Heads of Houses. You must defer to any ranking above you, though you won't have to worry so much about my siblings. While you would of course owe them a particular level of respect, they won't have any bearing on the details of your base. Only my father, mother, Sam, or I would have any influence whatsoever and even then you maintain autonomy and control of your own 'base;' your home."

"Okay. I get it, makes a lot of sense explained like that."

"Of course this is if you commit fully and, or marry. Currently, you're a captain from another branch. Basically we're the Air Force and your father is the Army. We're not in your chain of command, but we still outrank you. You're bound to your father's rules and policies first, but you still report to us. Your father, understandably takes priority, until such time you transfer."

"It's just that last part that presents any challenge for me. I've never had a problem making your family my priority, but I cannot disobey my father."

"That is something I have been thinking about. It deserves special consideration. _If_ the time ever comes, we'll revisit the topic and see if an agreement could be reached, one that doesn't put you in danger Michael. You're a Winchester now and I'll see you protected as such."

I smile huge at Papa for that, even if I can see it makes Michael a bit uncomfortable.

"Now what about Dean?"

I don't like the way he says that.

"He's our dependent and doesn't really have a place in the command structure yet—no offence Kiddo."

"None, taken."

"Though I'd at least give him first lieutenant, he's earned that much," he says winking at me. "And his say matters. You two need to come up with your own set of rules. This is where it gets tricky; some rules will benefit Dean, some you Michael and some both of you. The other may not always like a particular rule, but you must find a way to reach compromise."

"Thank-you, sir. And I understand that too, where I'm still a little hazy is with regard to Dean and I, and our current roles. How serious do we have to be before I may insist on rules?"

That's where Father gets a funny look on his face, tilts his head sideways and says: "You are serious enough now, Michael. This is no small thing in our family; the amount of commitment you have already pledged is enough you may begin 'setting up your own base,' of course Dean is still subject to our rules, but he knows he can defer to you for smaller things, that we will now take the rules you two have made under consideration—like this morning. But any rules you are unsure of, or that may conflict with ours currently, the two of you may discuss with us during Sunday dinners. Sam and I are a bit less stringent than the 'General,' we would like to nurture the mandates you come up with for your future home rather than have you follow too many of ours." Father says all of this a bit confused, like he's wondering why he should be explaining this part, but then he looks at me; appraising me, and has clearly decided on why he's had to explain it at all: _Dean must not have told him. But why wouldn't Dean tell him? That was Dean's responsibility. Dean knows this. Surely._

All I know is I'm in for a serious chat with father and that's in the very least.

"What happened this morning?" Michael asks. He has no idea how much trouble those four words are going to get me in, or maybe he does. He doesn't look too thrilled with me either.

"I'm starting to think I need to have a word with my son before we continue this conversation further, Michael, as I'm becoming a bit lost. Would the two of you excuse us for a moment?"

I'm sure I've gone pale white. Father looks extremely displeased. I look to Daddy for help, but where Father still needs blanks filled in, Daddy's already filled them in and he's no more thrilled with me than anyone else. I can read the look on his face too, it says: _"You're on your own, Sur. Next time ask for help before it comes to this."_

But I don't really know what I'm even in trouble for, just that I am. Apparently everyone else got the memo except me, the lowly first lieutenant.

It only takes one sentence from Father for me to figure it out. "Why is Michael confused as to where the two of you stand within your own relationship? It was your responsibility to tell him and come to us if you had trouble. Michael doesn't know this, but you do."

Thank fuck I've learned to think about my responses before giving them to Father. I was about to say: 'Because we aren't serious enough, he should have to commit to 'just me' before I follow any rules of his.'

But that is not going to go over well. Father will feel bamboozled. I spent all that time convincing him we were serious—serious enough to take this step and Father's right, I know well what this step means, but I spitefully kept it from Michael because he still insists on an open style relationship.

With Father's eyes boring into me as they are, I don't think I can Dean Winchester my way out of this one. I take a deep breath and tell him the truth, but at least I can phrase it in a way that will get me into less trouble—I'm in trouble either way.

"The open relationship bothers me more than I'd like it to. I've been telling him he doesn't get to make rules for me until we have a different kind of commitment." Even that doesn't sound good and I know how it's going to go over.

"Don't look at your plate, look at me—though I'm glad to see you have some notion as to why you should feel ashamed."

I look up to face him, but it's not easy. I know my father will never hurt me, other than a spanking, which usually hurts my pride a lot more than hurts my ass. But even without consequences like spankings, I can't stand when I've disappointed him—it literally guts me. The look on his face is enough to get me to want to repentant in any way he deems acceptable just so I can return to his good opinion.

"Do you recall how I explained to Michael that despite the less conventional way you two operate your relationship, I was willing to overlook that and accept him into our family circle?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any idea why I might have done that?"

"Because you thought I was okay with it. You did it for me," I say and force myself to look straight at him.

"Correct. But I don't like it Dean. I don't like it one bit. It's the reason I initially declined your request."

He lets that sink in, but he doesn't need to—I'm already on the same page with him as to why what I did was way out of line. I wanted things with Michael so bad, I did this knowing what it means to our family, I just wanted to see him commit in some way, but like Daddy said, this wasn't fair to Papa.

"I'm extremely disappointed Dean."

I can feel the tears there, but I'm trying not to cry. I've already been completely unfair, crying makes it more unfair—Papa always folds to Daddy and I crying—and I deserve every bit of his ire.

"I should tell you to end it. That you should wait until you are more mature, because I can see you are not. But that wouldn't be fair to Michael. I can't even believe I'm saying this, but he is taking this more seriously than you are. He's interested enough to ask questions so he can understand, he wants to commit to you any way he's able."

I can't even speak. I just nod.

"In the meantime, I suggest you figure out what you're okay with and what you're not, because I will have no choice but to tell you this is over, if you can't commit to your role in the relationship with him. It would make it a farce, if it's not already."

"Yes, sir."

"I made my decision based on what I thought I could trust of your decision making. I now question as to where you have developed in that area."

Just so you don't think he's putting me down, or anything like that, he's wondering out loud where I may be developmentally because of the Demon brand Modlenol Crowley injected me with. It's hard to say where I'm really at in that category and thus I get 'graded' on my actions far more than someone else my age would. It's been a guessing game for my parents my whole life, therefore, they give and take away privileges purely based on my behavior rather than my age as other parents might. I personally feel, in this case, that what I did was exactly the behavior of a seventeen-year-old, but it doesn't matter what I think at the moment. It matters what he thinks and he clearly does not.

"I'm cutting back your curfew until further notice. We can revisit the topic before you leave for Texas."

That sucks. That sucks a lot and he's pretty pissed at me to be quite so harsh. He knows how much I already dislike my current curfew. But arguing once Father's issued a punishment is met with him extending your sentence. I once ended up grounded for four months because I couldn't keep my stupid mouth shut.

My hands are balled into fists when I say, "yes, sir."

He lets out a heavy exhale. "Okay. I think you're sufficiently berated. But we've got one more thing to deal with, which will require Daddy and Michael. It's time for us to join them."

"Yes, sir," I say, but I don't think I can go in there just yet. "P-Papa? Can you… Can you forgive me?"

"Oh Dean. I'm harsh, I know, but surely you know I'll always forgive you. C'mere, Kiddo."

I practically dive into his arms for a much needed hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of it. I didn't mean to hurt you, or disappoint you."

"I know. You're young. We all make mistakes, angel."

I nod into his neck.

He ruffles my hair. "All right. Let's join them before they think I've roasted you alive."

"You pretty much did."

"I'd say you got off pretty lucky. You don't want to know what my father would have done to me."

~DM~

I run to Daddy when we reach the living room. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

He happily accepts me into his arms. "What am I going to do with you Dean Winchester?" He says only slightly cross. "You and I are having our own chat later, Sur."

I nod.

"Have a seat next to Michael please Dean," Father says.

Michael's his own arctic wind and after this next conversation, I'm sure he's going to want to have a chat of his own with me.

"I have a much clearer understanding of the situation. I can better answer your question Michael. What my son was supposed to explain to you, but failed to mention for reasons you two can discuss later, was that you should begin by coming up with a foundational set of rules. I suggest you begin with just one at a time. If you're going to be Dean's Head of House someday Michael, Dean will owe you a particular level of respect. I further suggest you make the first rule something of that nature. So he knows you outrank him, that he is responsible and accountable to you. Does that make it more clear?"

"Oh it does, sir. And I have some ideas that perhaps we could go over, in private?" In private means 'without Dean.' Yeah, he's mad too. Everyone's mad at Dean. It's a whole fucking party of them all being mad at me. I'm not saying I don't deserve it, but it's still shitty.  
"That's a good idea Michael. Let's move this conversation over to my study. Dean, Sam, excuse us."

That's a good idea Michael? Since when did those two become so buddy-buddy? I glare after them as they leave. Daddy bursts out laughing at me. "You can thank yourself for that Dean Daniel. I've got no sympathy for you."

"Well someone should."

"C'mon. While those two head off to plot your doom, I'll bet you and I could get a couple of games of crib in. It's time you heard a few stories about your father and I."


	4. The One Where Dean and Michael Make a Rule and then Dean Breaks It.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, I kinda messed up last chapter. It's not that big a deal, but essentially Sam's supposed to say this:
> 
> "Nothing's different, sweetheart—I think you can expect to go until he passes on. He still doesn't understand why you can't stay in Texas the whole summer, so he can get at least a month with you; he must start planning what he'll do with you the next year, from the day you leave. Besides, what about Nana and Grandaddy Colt? Your aunts, uncles, and cousins?"
> 
> The way I had that conversation written, I made it sound like he only stays with the Winchesters, but Dean spends 2 wks with each set of Grandparents, K? Cool? (Yay! They're all still alive!) Some of you have noticed Pala isn't. Sorry. Doing the math she is in doggy heaven by this story, BUT you'll see her a ton in Growing up Winchester! 
> 
>  
> 
> For this chapter: I hope you like roller coaster rides.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to chastise you anymore, Sur. I'm pretty sure your father did a good enough job."

"Then why are you still 'suring' me?"

"I'm disappointed, I suppose. You and I already talked about this."

This is starting to sound like a lecture, but I did ask. I look at my hands. "I'm sorry. You're right. Have at me, you deserve to get your say in too."

He laughs. "C'mere baby boy."

I slide across the bench and lean into him, he puts his arms around me in a kind of motherly embrace and cards his fingers through my hair. "Daddy just worries about you is all."

I hate worrying him; I know I'm not the easiest kid; half the time I hide shit from him is so he won't worry. "I don't think I ever told you that before your father and I got together, he refused to call me his boyfriend too, like Michael's doing now."

"Wait? He did?"

"Uh-huh."

"But I thought you two were always gaga over each other?"

"Oh, we were, but he was terrified I wouldn't accept the Winchester way, so he tried to push me away."

"So what's Michael's excuse? He _is_ accepting our ways, or so he says."

"When has Michael ever made you a promise he didn't keep? Or has made up to you when it's something he had to let you down for on account of his father?"

"Never. I know."

"This isn't a small commitment Dean, open relationship or not. Maybe you should talk to some of our 'other' friends. Maybe they can give you a different point of view on relationships. Unless of course you want to break it off with Michael, you always can."

"I, no—no way. I don't want that."

"Okay, Sugar. I'm not saying that's what you should do, but if you're unhappy—"

"I'm not."

Daddy doesn't like my answer.

"The open thing's not my favorite, but there is some benefit to me… All right, okay, maybe I should talk to some of your 'other' friends."

"Thank-you. Both your father and I will feel better. And if you promise to do that, I'll spare you stories of your father and I tonight."

"I will Daddy."

"But can I give you one piece of advice?"

"Sure."

"You've got to try to anticipate the needs of someone like Michael. He won't even be able to help himself—you know what your father's like and he isn't even an angel. When you know something bothers him, don't antagonize him. Try to find a rule for it that can make you both happy. Things will go much smoother for you."

Daddy's right and I know I should, but Michael pisses me off sometimes. We pull out the crib board and Daddy keeps his promise not to chastise me anymore, or tell me stories. I actually like his stories about him and Father, but right now I'd rather just play crib.

"They've been in there a long time," I say after a few games. It's making me fucking nervous. "They've been in there long enough to knit an afghan."

"Stop worrying," Daddy says.

"Well wouldn't you worry if they were talking about you?"

"I'm not sure. Why would your papa and Michael be talking about me?" he teases.

"Not helping, Daddy."

"Okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry. But you really have nothing to worry about. Don't you trust Michael?"

"Of course."

"Your father?"

"Absolutely."

"Then see? Just relax, sugar. That's part of it. Trust Michael to make good decisions."

~DM~

Michael and Father finally emerge a while later and saunter into the kitchen together; Father has his arm around Michael like they're good pals. What the fuck happened in there. I think I'd better contact Uncle Bobby, get him to look up curses; regular and angel, because clearly they've both been caught in a web of dark magic.

My whole life (my Winchester life) I've never wanted anything more than to see those two pal up. But now, I'm pretty sure I have to break them up. "All this time I never realized how funny, Michael is," Father says.

Michael, funny?

"Your father's a real comedian himself, Dean. I didn't know humans could be so entertaining."

My father is as equally 'unfunny' as Michael. "I didn't realize talking about me was such a hoot."

"Oh, no. We stopped talking about you ages ago, that part of the conversation was rather short, actually. Don't worry, we weren't laughing about you, Dean," Michael says.

Yeah, like that makes me feel better.

"Maybe we should let them talk, Cassy?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, Kiddo. I didn't mean to take up too much of Michael's time. If you go anywhere, back by ten. But Michael can stay here as long as you two need to talk. This is important."

Whoa wait, ten? When he said he'd be rolling my curfew back, I assumed eleven, which I was already disappointed about. Ten is ridiculous. But now is the wrong time to argue. Fact: All times are the wrong times to argue with Papa, so I decide to be smart and leave it. A least Michael can stay. They usually let him stay past curfew anyway. He's always been an exception to the rules, even when Papa hated him—though it does depend on his mood.

"Yes, sir," I say and wait for him to leave the room to complain.

"Can you fucking believe that? Ten? I think I was thirteen or fourteen the last time I had to be home by ten."

"Then don't misbehave," Michael says, not sorry for me in the least.

"Sorry, I forgot. You two are BFF. Best Friends for fucking-ever."

"Shouldn't that be BFFF?"

"You know what I mean."

"We're not best friends Dean."

"Sure looked like it."

"Are you going to be like this for the rest of the night?"

"No, I just," I look at my feet. "You're mad at me too. I don't want you to be mad. Can you just lecture me and be done with it?" I think finally some of the things Daddy's been saying have rubbed through my thick skull and I decide to go with honesty instead of using my own special brand of Dean deflection, because I know Michael will appreciate the honesty. This night's just got one of those awful feelings to it, ya know? I want it to be over.

I'm still surprised when the immovable Michael softens. "I was mad. Until you said that. How do you fucking do that?" I look up. He shakes his head and holds his hand out for me. "Will you come with me?"

He's asking? He must be able to read my look of shock. "Don't get used to it. But you and I need to figure something out and I want to make sure all of it's done by receiving your permission."

Holy fuck. What did my father say to him?

"Then I will go back to telling you what to do," he smirks.

"Yeah, we'll see." I take his hand. He leads me outside to the back of the property where I begged Father to help me build a tree house one year. I started a 'secret' club there when I was eight with some kids. Daddy always wanted me to have 'play dates' every week. It was often the guys from my hockey team. Hockey's always been the one thing I haven't been held too far back in. When I was younger, my smaller size sometimes held me back in a division, but I was always good, so it still felt good to play even if I was repeating, which the coaches were willing to let me do (what can I say? They wanted to win). It was also around 'age' seven or eight that dexterity didn't seem to be as much of an issue as it had in other years. I maintained and honed my skills, so once I grew in size, and my parents felt comfortable with letting me play with the bigger kids, moving on was easy. It did mean I didn't always play with the same kids when I was younger, but I've been with the same team three years running now and I'm fucking proud of that—they haven't had to hold me back. I'm lucky Daddy let me play hockey at all. He was real hesitant at first, but then he became the biggest hockey Mama you ever saw. That's right. I said Mama. Are you surprised?

But back to the tree house. It's big. Both Michael and I can still fit in it at the same time and easily. It's actually pretty kick ass. It was hell getting Papa to say yes, but when he did, he said, "When Winchester's do things, we do things right." And he helped me build a tree house—house. In fact, sometimes I still come here to think when I need to. Of course now I prefer going for a ride in Baby, but this place is special to me, so it does the trick too.

We lean against the railing outside of the 'house' part on its deck (yep, it's got a deck). Michael looks at me with his ageless eyes and it's the way he always looks at me, I'm sure of it, but I see him differently. I'm trying to take Daddy's advice; it's working a bit. "Dean. I haven't acknowledged your complaints regarding our 'relationship' because I didn't want to and I know that's a selfish thing to do, but I did it anyway. I _suppose_ I understand why you tried to trick me into a commitment in the form of Sunday dinners, and why you feel you don't owe me the same kind of respect your daddy gives your father. So before this can continue, before we continue, I need you to be okay with our relationship as such. I can commit to you in the ways you've asked; to your family, to everything, but we take other lovers Dean. That is my stipulation. If you're not okay with it, we can simply go back to the way things were, or," he sighs. "We can simply be friends."

I feel like my guts are being torn out. I can't help crying. The tears are fucking there and I hate them. I wipe at them furiously and turn away from him. I don't want him seeing me cry like this; the heartbroken sort of cry. Oh God it hurts. Is this, fuck. Is this goodbye?

"Jesus, Dean. How do I make that stop, you're, fuck, I have to clean something. Can your paltry human eyes even see how incredibly dirty it is up here? Has this place even seen a container of pine sol? I forbid you coming back to this place until it's been properly disinfected—"

I know he's not trying to make me laugh, but it does, it's so Michael and I know he's reaching the same level of upset as me—it's his version of crying. I have seen Michael cry. Angels aren't supposed to cry, but he does. He often worries he's turned part human due to the lack of grace.

I wipe as many tears away as I can. "Michael," I cut him off. "I'm sorry, I'll stop, I just didn't expect you to fucking break up with me."

"Break up with you? I did not break up with you. I'm giving you the choice to leave me if you can no longer continue with an open relationship—wait, are you saying you are choosing the friends option? Oh God. Bleach. I think I'll start in with bleach on this place and—"

I grab his hand. "Michael stop. You did say that, I freaked out. The last thing I heard is 'we can simply be friends' and the pain of that thought. Oh god. No. Whatever pain I go through at any other time I've been with you and I mean any other time, nothing compares to… No. Just no. I'm not even thinking about it. It's the one thing about us I can count on, that we are always together. I mean, I know you've kicked me out, but even in the moments I thought I believed you, I didn't compared to what you just said now. I'll find a way to, not be such a fucking brat about the open relationship thing." I don't bother going through all the questions of 'why.' I know it upsets him. I know what he'll say. It's an argument not worth having. There's some reason he can't share with me—most likely because it will hurt me—I should just leave it.

He grabs me and cements me to him holding me so tight, I can barely breathe. "Michael. Human. Crushing."

"Oh right. Sometimes I forget how fragile you are," he mocks as he releases his hold minutely, still not letting go. My whole body sighs relief at his rejoinder. It's us. This is how we do things, I don't want it any other way, except I changed things. He's giving me the option to go back to what we had before. We can forget this whole Sunday dinners thing, we can have our unofficially—official rules, the whole thing back the way it was.

But I don't want that.

I want something more concrete, even (you'll think I'm nuts) in terms of rules. I want him to commit as much as he can and more importantly, I want to commit to him. "I want you Michael, any way I can have you. I'm all in."

"Oh thank God," he says letting out a huge breath. "There are few times I've ever been so scared. I really thought you were going to say we should go back to being friends. I selfishly didn't want to give you that option, but your father suggested I should, said it was what was best for you. What does he know? He's only a human. I'm what's best for you, I'm glad you're smart enough to realize that."

I roll my eyes.

"Now that awful five minutes is over, we are never to speak of them again."

"Is that my first rule?" I ask cheekily.

"Oh no. That's just a fact. I've got something much better in mind for the first rule I'd like to give you. But before we get to that, there's one more thing that came up when I was speaking with your father I need to address."

It sounds to me they talked about me a whole lot fucking longer than they admitted to—I think they were faking their little buddy—buddy scene.

"If we are to keep the relationship open, I have to curb my," he clears his throat, "jealousy."

"Your jealousy? I thought you didn't care who I fucked?"

"It turns out I do. I discovered that at the beach yesterday. Believe me, it's not a feeling I want to feel. It's a terrible, awful feeling."

"Yeah. I know."

He ignores my snarky tone. "So your father suggested we start with two rules. The first being that we keep discussion of the open aspect of our relationship to a minimum. We both accept it and move on. There's no use fighting and being hurt over and over by a choice we've both made."

Now I'm suspicious in a new way. I can read between the lines: He doesn't want an open relationship either. He seems to enjoy all of his other lovers; I never would have dared to think he'd want to give that up for me, maybe he never thought so either. That must have changed recently, but why not just… ugh, don't go there Dean Winchester.

"Okay. I agree with that rule."

"That means we don't flaunt our other lovers in front of each other, but keep in mind, it's as I've said before, I can't help it if you show up unannounced. You take your chances with that. And I won't tell you who you can dance with at Babylon."

"Got it. Fair. But I thought Father said one rule? Why does he now say two?"

"He says it will ease my," he clears his throat again, "jealousy, if you follow another rule. This would be one that would benefit me, you understand. Gives me a modicum of 'control' over you. I know that if you were to disobey this rule, you know there would be punishment. I can feel secure knowing the chance of you doing 'the thing' would be greatly diminished due to the consequence. If you disobey, I will feel better about it having handed out said consequence and so will you."

I'm not new to any of that. Welcome to my daddy and papa's marriage. "Okay. So what's the rule?"

"It was an idea I had, I had several actually, but your father advised this one because he thinks it will benefit you specifically _and_ our relationship in general. Our rules may not always hit all three in the 'triangle' (you, me, us) but it builds a strong foundation to begin with one that does."

I smile. He's reciting my father. I know all of this too. I won't dare tell Michael he's cute.  
"I didn't realize angels got nervous."

He slaps my ass.

"Hey! Is the rule no teasing?"

"No. I enjoy teasing you too much, that wouldn't be fair."

"Okay, what is it? You're starting to make me nervous."

"No more telling me to 'Fuck Off.'"

Whoa. The rush I get to my belly when he says that is unreal. For a long time I've known I would be like Daddy. I mean, there was also a time I couldn't imagine being like Daddy, but that was a very short time. Michael's always been fairly authoritarian with me, but when I was fourteen and very much attracted to him (even though he refused to touch me saying I was way too young for this day and age's idea of appropriate) he told me that he forbid me attending my hockey team's wilderness camp out. Of course I told him to suck eggs, but fuck did that turn me on. I got so much masturbation mileage out of that one fucking sentence. But point is, after that it was undeniable; I don't _just_ do well with rules, they fucking turn me on and I kinda dreamed (hoped) this day would come. It's a bit thrilling.

"No problem. That's easy."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"I do a pretty good job not swearing in front of my parents, especially Daddy."

"To clarify. I don't give a fuck if you swear. It's specifically the telling me to fuck off thing. I find it disrespectful. It grates my very fragile nerves."

I didn't realize it bothered him so much. "You should have told me before."

"And would you have cared? I think you would have told me to fuck off."

He's probably right. I don't say so. "I should warn you Dean. Your father also suggested a steep consequence. He said it would define the seriousness of the commitment we are making; it would define our roles and it would show you I'm not afraid to follow through."

"When have you ever been afraid of following through?"

"It's one hundred _with_ my paddle Dean—I've never spanked you like that before. He said once we have more rules and once we're established, we can change the severity of punishment on that one if we feel it appropriate to reflect on our other rules and consequences, but that's up to us."

True. "Well, we won't have to worry. This is an easy rule. We can knock this one out of the ball park and move onto something more difficult."

"I don't know. I think this one's pretty hard."

"Ye of little faith."

"No, I've just known you too long."

"I'm insulted. Hang on. If you talked about this with my father, that means he _knows_ I say 'fuck.'"

"Of course he knows you say 'fuck.' Your daddy does too, they just like living in ignorance over your filthy mouth."

"You like my filthy mouth, baby."

"I do. I like it even more when it's filled with my cock."

"I thought you said this tree house was in need of bleaching. You really want to whip your dick out here? I'm surprised we're still in this tree."

"We're already dirty now."

I drag him into the tree house, in case my parents decide to go for an evening stroll about the property; in other words, they decide to check on Michael and I. I'm sure (like the swearing) they know Michael and I are fucking (I've had the sex talk from both parents, despite how completely unnecessary it was) but I'm also sure they're not about to provide me with a place to do so just yet. Maybe when I'm thirty-five.

It's still a risk inside the tree house, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. I nip at Michael's cock through his pants and smile up at him then slowly undo his belt. "I'd like you to spank me with this someday," I breathe imagining what it would feel like to have Michael do it. I'm not new to the ol' strap. My backside has tasted it in both its lives, but never from Michael and I'd really like that.

"You're going to make me cum before you even get to my cock, Dean."

I throw the belt to the side; unbutton his pants and shuck them off in one motion. Now I've got Michael's gorgeous cock in front of me; I lick up the shaft and savor it. Nothing I haven't done before, but tonight's different. I feel a bit more like Michael's mine.

I used to call him that when I was little and I know I believed it then, but along the way I'd stopped.

I take his entire length into my mouth; he throws his head back. "Yeah, Dean. Just like that."

Not good enough. I swirl my tongue under his head, but don't keep enough of my mouth on his cock to satisfy him then just when he moves his hips, I swallow down his length again.

"Quit, fucking around Dean."

I don't 'quit fucking around.' I keep on teasing him 'till he grabs my hair in his one hand, holding me in place and fucks my mouth. In three sharp thrusts he's cumming down my throat. Of course I swallow. Mission accomplished. I sneer up at him. He pulls me in for a kiss. "You don't have to tease me if you want me to be rough, Petal. All you have to do is ask. That was fucking amazing though. I don't even want to know how you're so good at that."

"Duck is bad enough. Please don't start with Petal. And some of us are born with natural talents." I feel my phone buzz in my pocket; I check it in case it's my parents. It's not. It's Holden a guy from my hockey team. They want to arrange an off-season get together. I should probably go. It's good to do that kinda shit, even if I'd rather not.

I begin a response as I've got an angel nipping at my cock. "Just a sec, Michael."

"Is that really more important than me doing this?" He begins unbuttoning my pants.

"Seriously. In a sec, Fuuhck."

He looks at me with eyes blazing while my eyes are fucking wide and scared. Not of him; scared of myself and my apparent lack of control. We both know what I almost said. "I didn't actually say it!"

He shakes his head. "I at least gave you a week, in my mind, before I thought you'd slip, but here it hasn't even been an hour."

Holy shit. Maybe I do say that to him a lot more than I thought I did. Okay, now I'm fucking worried.

"Your father's a fucking God—he said he wouldn't be surprised if his son had a sore ass at breakfast tomorrow."

I would complain about that, if I didn't just about prove him right. "Okay, so maybe I do say that more than I should. It's a good rule, especially if it bothers you."

"Wait a minute. Who are you? You've got to be an imposter. My Dean would never concern himself over what bothers me. Why, just the other day at the beach, he wouldn't even put a little fucking sunscreen on and I'm still trying to figure out how many cancer cells he's accumulated."

Okay, I think he's seriously overacting about that, but maybe (and yes you're hearing it here first folks) I am a bit too much of a shithead sometimes. "I was an ass yesterday, okay? I didn't consider how you might feel, however paranoid I might have felt you were."

He doesn't take my half-joke in the lighthearted nature I mean it. Half-joke because it's kinda true. "Look, I'm going to consider your feelings more. Okay?"

"See that you do."

I don't bother asking he be reasonable in return. I don't think it's possible for him. I know my father often tried to be a certain way for Daddy, a way he just isn't and it never turned out well for them. Michael's an angel. That adds a whole other tangled necklace to de-knot.

"I meant it when I said I was all in Michael. I won't be such a brat anymore."

He bursts out laughing. "That's like trying to say you and I are not coming straight back here tomorrow to disinfect this tree house if you ever want to come up here again. You are a brat Dean. A pain in my fucking ass most of the time because of it, but it's who you are and I accept that." He leans in to kiss my lips. "Besides, what fun will I have if I can't spank you for something?"

I shove him. And fuck. Least this time I don't come close to saying it. But I do _think_ the words 'fuck off.' I think Dean Winchester; you're screwed.

~DM~

"Morning, Daddy!" I snatch a cheese biscuit off the plate he's putting together; he rolls his eyes at me.

"You're in a good mood this morning. I assume everything went well?"

"Yeah. It went great."

"I'm glad to hear it. So, I'm dying to know. What did he say for your first rule, baby?"

Aw fuck. Daddy's going to kill me. I could just tell him about the first 'rule,' which is really more just a mutual respect thing, but apparently he knows when I'm lying. "I can't tell him to fuck off anymore."

"Dean _Daniel_ Jonathan."

"You asked Daddy."

He sets the butter and a coffee before me at the table. "I did."

"Oh c'mon. As if you don't know I have a sailor's mouth like Uncle Jensen. I think it says a lot about my character that I _almost_ never swear in front of you, Daddy." I look up at him sweetly.

"And it better be kept that way, Sur."

"Yeah, Mama."

"What are you 'Mamaing' your daddy about this early in the morning, kiddo?"

"Oh hey, morning Papa." Papa kisses my head. "I told him about the rule Michael made for me." I don't bother explaining since he already knows.

Papa has to bite his cheeks not to laugh. "You think that's funny, do you Castiel Winchester?" Daddy says.

"Hey. He's the one with the potty mouth, why am I in trouble?"

"He probably learned it from you and Jen." I know Daddy can't believe that. He's just sulking.

"Have you started packing yet, kiddo?" Papa says to change the subject. Oh right, Texas.

"Uh, yeah," I say biting my lip. Fuck. I un-bite my lip.

"No he hasn't," Daddy rats me out and smiles in an all-knowing way. Okay, okay. I get it. There's a lot he pretends to believe and he's irked at me. I'd better make it up to him later.

Papa's unimpressed. "It's a good thing you have an earlier curfew then. You can work on packing."

"Yeah, about that. Ten?"

"What about it?" That's his 'I hope you're not arguing with me' tone.

"Nothing," I mumble.

"Good. Start packing, tonight."

"Yes, sir." Jesus. No one's willing to give me a fucking inch these days.

Daddy ruffles my hair. "I'll help you, sugar. We're going to Nana and Grandaddy Colt's first this year."

"We are?"

"Yep. Just the way it worked out with the planning. Nana's got more company coming the last two weeks of July and there won't be room for us and this works better for your father's schedule too."

"Gotcha." We usually go to Nana's the last two weeks, on account of the party we usually have for my daddies's birthdays. They were actually born on the same fucking day. What are the fucking chances of that?

"Not to worry, Nana's still going to have her big party."

Nana's still as spunky and wiley as ever, even in her mid-seventies. She says it's all the great-grandkids that keep her young.

"And you remember I'm leaving tomorrow, Dean?" Papa says. "I'll be back Friday evening."

"I remember Papa." Father travels a lot for work. He took a lot of time away from travelling when I was younger (still travelling for the bigger events), but he began again as I got older.

We finish breakfast on a positive note. We actually end up having a lot of fun, the three of us. They're strict parents, sure, but only because they care so damn much—it's actually nice ninety-five percent of the time.

~DM~

I drive Baby to school. It's a co-ed private school I attend with Hannah. "Why are you smiling like that?" she says when she meets me at my locker.

"No reason."

"You and Michael are in the black this week I take it?"

"Not all my moods have to do with Michael."

"Pretty much Dean. Maybe you should try not letting him govern your every emotion? Huh?"

"Who asked you?"

"I'm only teasing."

That didn't really sound like teasing. "So, this weekend. Miller's?"

"Yeah. Definitely." I'll wait to tell her about the shortened curfew. At least 'till after first period.

Suddenly there's an arm between Hannah and I, a palm flat against the locker. "Excuse us Hannah, I want to talk to Dean."

"The answer's no Davis. C'mon Hannah." Brad Davis is your typical, ridiculously hot, captain of the football team guy. He's a bit hard to resist at times, since he's exactly what I like: Tall, muscular, domineering, and did I mention ridiculously hot?

"Just, hear me out Dean, please." And by the way, his family's also from Texas, so guess who I get to see at the Church fundraiser every summer? Yep he's a church boy and unlike Michael, he _is_ the kinda boy you take home to Mama, if you know what I mean.

Hannah and I look at each other. She's asking me if I'm all right and I nod for her to leave. She knows we'll meet up after first period.

"Okay. You've got five minutes, Davis. Shoot."

"We're having an off-season scrimmage game with York house this Friday. I'd like you to come Dean. I'll take you out after."

Just so we're clear, Brad Davis isn't the sort to let me anywhere near Babylon. He's extremely goody-goody. I'm not even sure he swears all that often. Daddy would love him.

"Can't. Have to be home by ten. Curfew."

"I'll have you home in plenty of time for your curfew Dean."

How many fucking times do I have to say no to this guy?

"You've never given me a chance Dean. Just give me one. You kept saying all season you'd come to one of my games and never did."

I did go to lots of games actually. I was just under the bleachers most of the time. Fucking cheerleaders. I'm not really that into football. I don't mind it, but I fucking love hockey. And shooting. I also got into target shooting when I was young. I don't compete as much anymore, but I'm good. Shooting is the one skill I never lost from my old life.

"I'm in a relationship."

"I know about your 'relationship.' Everyone knows about that relationship, Dean."

"If you're going to fucking talk about my relationship in fucking air quotes, then you can forget it."

"Okay, okay. That was uncalled for. I'm sorry, it's just, I hate how that guy treats you."

Everyone's entitled to their own stupid opinion I suppose. "We done here? Because I am."

"Look. I've screwed this up royally. What I meant was, I respect the kind of relationship you're in, even if I don't agree with it. I will also respect whatever rules go along with that."

"You can't kiss me on the lips."

"But I could kiss you other places," he smiles suggestively. I can't help but get a little thrill at that.

"Once we fuck it's game over."

"I don't plan on making love to you until our wedding night, Dean. That would be wrong." He holds up his finger to show me his chastity, I mean purity ring. Yeah. Been there, done that. Daddy tried that one with me. I immediately argued that I remembered enough about the sex I had in my previous life to know I wasn't anywhere near a virgin. Daddy of course said God would let me start again in this life and believe me I wanted to do it for him. I really fucking did. So I took the fucking vow and consequently broke it. Thankfully Jesus isn't the only one who's forgiving—Daddy is too. I felt so fucking bad for months after that.

Wedding night? And I still can't believe Captain of football, king of the school's, got his purity ring. I need to take the merchandise for a test drive, there's no way I'm marrying anyone 'till I know they kick-ass in bed. But that's besides the point right now. "Hold it cowboy. I haven't even said I'd go on a date with you and you've already got our nuptials planned?"

"We're meant for each other Dean. I know it."

"You're reading the wrong star chart, Sugar."

"Jesus Murphy. I'm screwing this up more. Look, just one date. Please. I'll never bother you again if you just give me one date."

Now he has my attention folks. "Okay. One date then you never bother me again."

"I think you'll want me to," he says smiling like the fucking sun. I can't believe how happy I just made this dude. He leans in and plants a soft kiss on my cheek—in front of anyone passing by. "Thanks Winchester. I'll pick you up at five-thirty on Friday."

"Five-thirty. That's pretty early. Don't these kinda things usually start at seven?"

"Don't you want to see us warm up?"

No I don't. But I guess you only get one night with Dean Winchester, I might as well make it good for him. "Fine. See you then."

~DM~

Ugh. Nothing's easy when you're Dean Winchester. Somehow the whole school knows by noon that I've got a date with their football captain. Fuck. I'm in a really bad mood and then Michael texts me to say: _Cum to my place after school. Pun intended_.

Normally that would make me happy and I'd be fucking counting down the moments, but I feel like he's going to find out about this Brad thing ('cause in case you haven't already figured it out, the whole thing's a bad fucking idea) and despite our 'pact,' 'rule' what have you, it's not going to go over well.

So then, I almost fucking text him to fuck off. Even have it written then I quickly erase it. Good thing he wasn't in front of me just now. Wow. I do that a lot. He hasn't even done anything to me this time. Not that Michael's a saint (well, you know the kind I mean) he does his share of shit in our 'relationship' too, but this one's all on me. Fuck, now I'm air-quoting _relationship_ in my head. That whole conversation with Brad really shook me up for some reason.

I go for straight up avoidance, but take a polite approach. _Sorry, can't. Gotta study for finals and pack for Texas_. There. That's a perfectly acceptable excuse for Michael. That's got my parents written all over it. And it's mostly true.

_Something the matter, Duck?_

He picks now to be fucking sweet? What the hell's happened since yesterday? It's like the whole world's been turned upside down. _Nothing's the matter_ , I text back.

 _Please cum, I won't keep you LONG. You can study at my place._ I get all of his sexual suggestions.

Wow. Papa's things he suggested must have worked fucking well. I don't even know what to do with this Michael. _I'll be there._

It should be a fucking sex innuendo I realize after I send my message. It's this thing we do. So I'm not surprised when Michael's waiting for me outside of the school when the bell rings. "Your precious car is already at my place."

The amount I want to tell him to fuck off right now is at an all time high. "What the hell?"

"You were acting strange. I was worried. Come."

I huff, but follow him. Yeah like a fucking duckling. Or so I think until he grabs my hand. "Why are you sulking?" he says pulling me up to his side. "Is it because you don't like my angels driving your car? I made sure it was Tom. I know you don't mind him."

Huh. That's unusually considerate. "Sorry. I'm fine. It's good to see you."

"Good." He opens the jeep door for me and I get in. Things are better from there. He barely waits 'till we're in the door before he's undressing me; he fucks me over every piece of furniture he has. Why was I going to pass this up again? Stupidity. I was thinking with the wrong brain—I should always think with my dick.

We're naked and panting on the floor when we're spent. Michael grabs a large pillow off the couch so we can both lie on that together and continue to bask in the after sex glow. "Were you a good boy today?"

I push him. "Yes, sir."

"Sir? Hmm, I like that."

"Don't get used to it."

"Maybe it will be rule someday?"

"I have to agree to the rules, remember? I'm not agreeing to that."

"Not even if I ask nicely?"

"You don't ask things. I won't have to worry about it," I tease him.

"True," he sighs. " I suppose I should let you study now."

Oh right. My fake studying. I'm so prepared for my finals. Daddy wouldn't let me not be. I already know my stuff backwards and forwards, but looking things over one more time couldn't hurt. "Okay, but you need to feed me. My human encumbrances are setting in."

"I already sent Tom to get you burgers."

"What the hell? Are you okay Michael? Wait. Did my father curse you? Check your body for a coin, a symbol, anything."

He laughs. "I'm not cursed—well I guess that's debatable in some ways. Your father hasn't cursed me. He just made me realize some things."

"Okay, Romeo." Michael's being so nice it's unnerving. "Whatever he's told you, I liked you fine before."

"But I expect respect from you; therefore, I in turn must offer respect to you."

"Yeah, I get that Michael. I feel plenty 'respected.' But I like our slightly dysfunctional-function, yah know? It keeps things interesting. Can I have a beer?"

He eyes me suspiciously, but gets me a beer, opens it and hands it to me. "You shouldn't be drinking while you study. Alcohol kills brain cells in humans."

"Have you been reading Wikipedia again?" I take a sip.

"That's common knowledge Dean."

"Thank-you professor. Thankfully, I've got plenty of them. I'll be just fine. So when does the disinfecting of the tree house happen?" I change the subject.

"Already done."

"You're kidding."

"You were acting funny. It drove me crazy all day, Dean."

"I'm sorry I worried you. Everything's fine. I promise."

"Then why are you biting your lip?"

Okay, does everybody know about that?

"Fuck. Michael, I'm okay. I mean it."

He eyes me suspiciously. "Go study."

Other than Michael's obsessive worrying over me all afternoon, it's a pretty good afternoon. Father even gives me permission to miss dinner, so long as I'm home in time to get some packing done and I stay and eat almost every burger Tom brings back (Michael ends up eating one). I thought they might want to 'get rid of the kid' for the evening anyway, since Father goes out of town tomorrow, if you know what I mean.

Yeah, everything's just peachy, until I get a text from Brad. _Looking forward to Friday Darlin'_.

Jesus Christ. Now _I_ have a stalker.

"That. Whoever that text is from was the reason you were acting so funny this morning."

"What? Seriously what?" How can he know that?

"I know you better than anyone else Dean. I make it my business. Who is that? Are you planning another hunt with your uncles? Because I'm telling you now, you're not going."

"Just calm the fuck down. I'm not going hunting."

"Who, Dean?"

"I thought we're not supposed to 'flaunt' our other dates."

"You're not flaunting, I asked. A date? What happened to no names and numbers exchanged?"

"Oh, is that why you're pissed? It wasn't like that. He's kind of a friend. I've known him for years, anyway, he's had my number a long time. I can't exactly ask for it back just because he wants to go on a date."

"A fuck you mean. It's a fuck and leave policy. You date me."

Okay, I can't even fucking help it. Michael jealous is fucking thrilling. My heart races and my body thrums with an excited energy. "Right. Fuck and leave. That's all it is. I'm mostly just getting him off my back. He's sorta had this thing for me for years and when we go back to Texas he's always around, so we kind of hang out sometimes, but I've never dated him. Unrequited love I guess," I joke. Michael's not laughing. He actually looks like he's about to go looking for Brad and tear him apart.

"Why was I not made aware you had someone pining after you?"

"'Cause I didn’t think you cared. Until yesterday, I didn't even know you were, well, all that into me."

"How could you not? I spend most of my fucking time with you Dean. I've shed blood for you, I've protected you, still do and I'm committed to your family for you. What the fuck else do you want? So we have a few extra lovers on the side. What's the big deal in comparison to all that? Grow up."

I feel like crying and running at the same time, but I keep a stiff upper lip. "Okay. What I said was unfair. You've been there for me. You do so much for me. I am grateful Michael. Look, if you're upset about this date, I assure you, you don't have to be. We're just friends. More like acquaintances."

"I'm not worried about the date. You're not going. I forbid it."

Okay. That just pisses me off. I didn’t even care about the date and I might have cancelled it if he'd of just fucking asked, but now I'm going. I'm so fucking going. I'm leaving here too. "You can't forbid it. I can fuck who I like. That's our deal. We both have to accept it, remember?"

"Not him, Dean."

"Fuck off, Michael." Oh shit.

"Not even twenty-four hours."

The disappointment in his tone is crushing. I have to get out of here. I grab my books stuffing them in my backpack and run to the Loft's sliding door that's quickly blocked by Tom. Fuck. Michael's going to keep me here, just so he can spank my ass, isn't he? I'm surprised when he says: "Let him go, Tom."

I run.

~DM~

There's really only one place I want to go right now: Home to my parents. So that's where I go, even if the conversations not going to be a typical one you're supposed to have with your parents.

My parents are kinky bastards; that's no secret. Not that they've ever done anything in front of me, but let's just say they forgot to lock the door a couple times. Don't worry, I'm not scarred for life or anything; I just learned real quick to fucking knock. Which is what I do now. "Daddy? Papa?"

"Uhh, just a second Dean Bean." I hear an 'oof,' and then some laughing and then fuck, I hear Papa say "we'll finish this later, Baby." Then there's kissing.

Those two. I'll bet they'll still be doing kinky shit when they're ninety. Daddy opens the door in his housecoat and pajama pants. "Oh, sweetheart. What happened?" he says when he sees my red, tear streaked face.

"I screwed up Daddy. I don't know what to do. I need help."

"Dean? Are you okay? You hurt?" Papa says starting into a panic.

"I'm okay Papa, it's just, with Michael, I broke our rule and I didn't mean to and it was awful." Most of my words are mush because I'm fucking crying again. Daddy pulls me inside the room and to him as he looks at Papa over my head.

"Dean, baby. You did the right thing coming to us for help. I'm proud of you—we both are. All of this can be fixed. I know exactly how you feel. I felt the same way I first broke your father's first rule and I did, royally. All I had to do was leave my cell phone on. Imagine his dismay when I left it off all day and he had to look all 'round the county for me."

"But it hasn't even been t-twenty-f-four hours, Daddy."

Papa laughs. "Your daddy didn't last much longer than that either."

"He didn't?" I say pulling away to look at Daddy. But he's so good at following rules now.

"Nope. Your father and I messed up so many times. But unlike you, we refused the help we were offered thinking we knew better. You've done so good coming to us."

I have? That makes me feel a world better. "In our defense, my father isn't the most approachable, which is why we've worked on being different for you, angel. We realized later on, as prickly as he can be, he was still a valuable resource. And since you and Grampa have a much more easy going relationship, we encourage you to seek his help too."

I nod. "C'mon. Come sit on the bed Pumpkin," Daddy says.

We all sit on the bed together and I tell them the whole thing about the rule breaking and Brad without getting into detail on the whole 'fuck and leave' policy. My parents are well aware I have sex. Strict as they are, after the whole purity ring failure, they took a whole new stance on it. Believe me, it wasn't as simple as I'm making it sound now, but that's a story for another time. Let's just say we all accept the fact I'm sexually active.

Of course my parents worry (whose parents wouldn't) but I'm careful as possible. You'll notice Michael and I don't use protection, but he's the only one. He can't get STI's, or STD's, or carry them and pass them to me. Of course they are not aware of just how many partners I've had. They think my numbers can still fit on my one hand. Something else I'll let them think, probably for life. Because believe me, it's still a point of contention, but they know I'm going to do it and they'd rather have an open door for me to come to on such a subject; not wanting me to get the impression 'sex is bad and all that.' I'm just lucky it's an area they're particularly open about. I wish they felt half as open about teenagers and curfews.

"I swear it was just a date, to get him off my back."

"This is a tricky one," Daddy says. "I can see why Michael's upset, but you are within your rights sweetheart. You haven't done anything wrong in making a date with Brad, regardless of the circumstances being a little altered from yours and Michael's norm, but it's clearly affecting him Dean."

"He's not supposed to let it."

"True, but it is and you are aware that it is."

"But what about all the times Michael's aware of when it bothers me?"

"It's a good point, but it's not a counterpoint to how you should treat him. The bottom line is: Does it feel good knowing you are doing something that hurts him?"

"Obviously not, but I'm confused. We weren't supposed 'get into detail' about our other lovers, or whatever that means."

"If I may interject," Papa says. "First, if you don’t know what that means, you and Michael really ought to define it better. Second, I think that if you truly had someone you were opposed to Michael seeing, he'd reject him or her without a second thought. You want to date this boy Dean."

"What? No I don't. I've told him no for years."

"I believe you believe that. But why else would you tell him no? Have you said no to anyone else who has seriously pursued you?"

Fuck. That mind fucks me. I don't have an answer to his question. And if you're thinking purity ring, think again. I've taken down at least eight purity ring shmucks. I'm sure I could convince Brad.

"I think you should. I think as much as you love Michael, part of you needs to see what it's like to 'date' someone else. Someone who doesn't just want sex like some of you other non-Michael partners. When you go see Michael for your punishment over breaking your rule, talk to him about it. I'm not saying he'll like it, but he'll understand, eventually."

"What makes you think I'm going to go to him to get the spanking of my life?"

They both laugh at me. "I'd like to see you try not to," Papa says. "The guilt will eat you alive. You're exactly like your daddy in that department."

And my stupid parents never seem to be wrong. Can I hope they'll be wrong on this one?

"Try not to worry about it 'till at least tomorrow. C'mon Dean Bean. Let's go do a bit of packing then why don't you have an early night? You've still got school tomorrow anyway."

Man. Everything seems so fucked up, but they have a way of making the fucked up sound so easy. I love how they can do that; I've got the world's best parents. "Okay Daddy."

I give Papa a hug. "What's that for Kiddo?"

"Because you're a good Papa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: 
> 
> 1) This chapter was supposed to end when Dean ran out of Michael's loft, but the whole chapter was so angsty, I had to give you a little something more. 
> 
> 2) 10 Hunter points to the person (or persons--I have lots of hunter points to give) who can tell me why the rule Dean and Michael decided on was a good first rule (The Dean can't tell Michael to fuck off rule).


	5. The Complicated Life of Dean Winchester (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets Hunter Points! All the answers were so good, my bit following doesn't portray the answer like y'all did. If anyone wants further understanding, go back and read the comments from last chapter. 
> 
> This story is about to get really fucking hairy and complicated. I had to write 4 chapters ahead, just to sort it all out myself, b/c what I thought was going to happen, what we'd all expect to happen, doesn't fucking happen. 
> 
> I hope it's entertaining enough you stick around. At the end of the day, just have fun with it. I'm hoping that amidst the angst, you'll be able to see the hilarious side to how fucked up and complicated Dean's life gets, by his own choosing. And if not, hopefully you at least like spanking, 'cause you'll get to see lots of that.
> 
> This story has got a long fucking storyline. Note I'm not even going to try and guess how many chapters it's going to be via that question mark. I hate leaving the number of chapters at a question mark. What I'm saying is, try not to worry in the parts you will inevitably worry and be confused about (I was as fucking confused as you might be). I believe in HEA's and stories that don't go as planned. LOL

When I wake up the next morning it's the first thing I think of. Fuck. Yep. My parents are right. Michael spanking me is inevitable, because I won't feel right until he does. I hate what I did. Hate that I broke _our_ rule. It's something that meant something to him; it means something to me—it was a commitment I made that I fucking broke. I can do better.

Of course Michael sent me a text while I was packing with Daddy. He wanted to make sure I got home okay and for the first time ever, I _didn't_ want to tell him to Fuck Off. I feel so fucking bad. It clearly bothers him.

I guess it's not very respectful. Could you imagine if Daddy told Papa to fuck off? Hell, could you imagine if I told either one of them to fuck off? I never would. I never have. Michael making it as a rule, not only says just how much it bothers him, but reminds me to respect him as the authority figure in our relationship.

I think I always thought I did. But without anything official, I've been following stuff as it pleases me. And with me exercising greater respect, that automatically gives Michael greater 'control.' I'll start thinking how my other actions affect him; I'll want to do less things to piss him off; we'll work better as a team. Hey. The triangle: Him, me, us.

_He really is trying._

I shower, dress and head down for breakfast. Right away I hear an extra voice. It's Michael. What's he doing here? He looks beautiful in his navy suit with his pale blue shirt underneath, hands causally in his pockets; he's smiling at Daddy as Daddy mixes up a batch of pancakes. His smile is quickly turned toward me when I walk into the room and set my book bag down.

"Hey Dean Bean," Daddy says.

"Hey Daddy," I say giving him a kiss on his cheek, but my whole awareness in on Michael. I'm surprised when he silently crooks a finger at me; I go to him and feel more whole than I have since last night, when he wraps his arms around me. I don't mean to cry, but I shed a few tears on his coat. He breathes me in.

"I had to see you, Duck. And I came to talk to your father. I've also had a nice chat with your daddy."

"I'm glad you're here," I say pulling away. "You staying for breakfast?"

"I already invited him, sweetheart," Daddy says.

I drag him by the hand to sit down. We're both quiet knowing we need to talk, but it's not the right time, so we just sit and stare at each other—fucking God we're mushy this morning.

Papa walks in wheeling his small suitcase with him. "Good morning, Dean."

"'Morning Papa. You all set to go?"

"Yep. Just need breakfast and goodbyes from my family."

It's a good breakfast, but there's always a bit of sadness in the air when Father leaves. Daddy can sometimes be known to mope, so I usually chill with him while Father's gone. Daddy always tries to tell me he's fine and to go out—he'd rather me hang out with friends, but I stubbornly stay home with him anyway.

When we do say goodbye, Daddy's trying not to cry and they full on make-out at the door. "C'mon you two. We've got kids in the room," I joke to lighten the mood for Daddy. I can't stand it when he's sad and neither can Papa. Then again, neither Daddy nor I like it when Papa's gone. It's just a sucky thing altogether.

Least my joke has the effect I was going for. They pull away smiling at each other, I get a slightly chastising look from Papa, but he's not mad—he knows what I'm up to. I get a big hug and a 'be good' like always. I tend to get up to slightly more mischief when he's gone.

Papa even shakes Michael's hand and gives him a fatherly 'pat-on-the-back hug.' "Take care of them for me Michael."

"I will sir." And Michael says they're not BFFF. Father doesn't just say that shit to anyone.

When Father leaves, Michael and I make ready to go. "I'll drive you to school; I'm coming to pick you up after anyway. It will save my angel peoples," he leaves off the word 'dicks,' but it's implied, "from having to drive your car home."

Normally I'd complain. We'd get in the car and I'd accuse him of being a controlling asshole and tell him he can't tell me what to do. But I'm trying to see it different; how Daddy sees Father.

Right away I notice the tension in his body. I think if it were up to him, he'd take me straight to his loft and have me skip school altogether. He's in pain. I can ease his pain by letting him do this. Suddenly I don't mind. "All right, but I need to be home for dinner—"

"Actually sweetheart, I have plans. You don't need to be home for dinner."

"Plans?" Daddy almost never has plans. I can't help feeling affronted.

He runs a hand through my hair and fixes my school jacket. "I have friends too," he says.

"Of course. Okay then. I'll be home later." He kisses my forehead. Michael and I leave.

"I'm sorry, Michael. Fuck, I can't believe I fucked up so early in the game."

"I was harsh and unreasonable."

I laugh. "Well, you were right, we don't date other people, we never have. It's our fucked up version of cheating."

"I think you should go on the date, Dean."

"You've been talking to my father."

"Well he is my new best friend," he smirks.

"It's going to drive you crazy. I don't feel like scraping pieces of Brad off the pavement."

"Don't be silly, I don't have enough grace for that."

I smile at that bit and say more seriously, "I don't even want to go. Brad is a dick face. He thinks we're getting married."

That makes Michael laugh. "See? I've got nothing to worry about. You already said you were going to not-marry me."

"I would like to de-purity ring the smug bastard."

The hand Michael has on the steering wheel tenses up, the one closer to me relaxes, but it's fake-relaxed. "That sounds like it fits in exactly with our policy. Go on the date Dean."

We pull up to school and he leans across to kiss me. "See you later, Duck."

Yeah, he's probably just looking forward to spanking my ass. "Bye."

~DM~

I'm eating lunch in the cafeteria, by myself since Hannah has some end of the year group project to put final touches on. Brad and his fifty galleons of cologne saddle up to me. "Hey lover."

"I'm not your lover Brad."

"C'mon. Let me have fun. I'm excited; it's going to be the date of the century."

Everyone's fucking staring at us. Fuck. "How about we skip the date and I show you the cock of the century outback." I waggle my eyebrows for good measure.

That makes him mad. "I told you Dean. Not 'till we're married."

I roll my eyes. "Right. I forgot." Then I get an idea. I know what will scare him the fuck away. "If you wanna marry me, you have to follow the Winchester Way. My father won't let me marry anyone who doesn't. That means you have to do what my father says, or get spanked." Countdown to when he'll never want to talk to me again in five…four…three…

"Like domestic discipline? I'd insist on it."

"What the fuck?"

"Well that is what y'all are talking about, right?"

I swallow. I was trying to freak him out, now I'm fucking freaked out. "Um, yeah." There's got to be a way of saving face. "Yeah, so when you misbehave, I'd spank your ass. You really okay with that?"

"I don't think so Dean. I'll be the one doing the spanking of your ass."

Is it written on my fucking forehead? Still, it takes my breath away. The way he says it so matter of factly. And fuck if I don't look at my plate. His hand reaches out and gently guides my chin to look up at him. "Don't worry, Darlin' only when you misbehave."

I can't help it. I'm fucking intrigued. "W-what would you, what kind of rules would you make?"

"Well first we'd be cleaning up that filthy mouth 'a yours. You can't swear like that in front of my mama and daddy."

I don't think anyone can clean up my filthy mouth. I'd like to see him try. 'Sides, like I would swear in front of his parents anyway, my daddy'd wash my mouth out himself if he caught wind of that. "I'd expect dinner on the table every night by six, just like my mama has for my daddy. And the kids in bed by a reasonable hour, so we can have grown-up time."

So he wants a fifties housewife? "My name ain't fucking June Cleaver."

"Aw. C'mon Dean. Don't knock it 'till you try it. It's just a nice wholesome way to live. Don't you want kids, baby?"

Did I want kids? Well, yeah. I sorta do. "I do, but—"

"Well someone's gotta stay home and look after them. I figured you'd want to like your daddy. You want to be like your daddy, don't yah?"

"Yeah, but—"

"See? I'm just thinking of you."

"Oh." When he puts it that way, it sounds almost, sweet.

He leans in to plant a kiss on my cheek and slides a hand through my hair. "It'll be a good life together, Dean. I swear it." He begins eating his sandwich; I stare at him dumbfounded. "I've already got several colleges interested in me for my football skills. I'm certain I'll get drafted. I'll make good money, you won't even need to work."

Okay, this is just hilarious now. I start eating my lunch. "Right, I'd just stay home all day while you went to work. What about my education? I'm going to do nothing with that. My parents expect me to go to college." As I'm mocking it, I realize that's exactly what Daddy did and I feel like an asshole.

"It's no small honor raising the kids Dean. If you really wanted a job once they're grown, I'd have no problems with that."

Man would I like to see his face if I asked if he would find 'hunting' an acceptable career. But he is right about something; I think I would like to raise the kids. You can't raise kids hunting though. That's something to think about. Well I guess you can, but I dunno, if I did have kids, I don't know I'd want to raise them on the road like my dad did my first time around. Some days, I really feel like I want join my uncles and go back to hunting, but when I'm reminded of things like having kids, I'm not so sure I want to be a hunter again. Maybe that is best left as my first life. "So how many kids do we have?"

He smiles bright, the features of his good-looking face become all that much more dreamy. "Three. Two boys and a little princess. Your daddy would love that."

Fuck. He would. It does sound kinda nice. "You're fucking funny dude."

"I mean it Dean. I plan on proving it to you starting with this Friday. I'm gonna take good care 'a you."

He's serious. Completely one hundred percent serious. "Before we pick out china patterns, let's go on the date first cowboy."

~DM~

"What the fuck Michael?" When Michael comes to pick me up, he's all in fucking white. White pants and a white shirt-coat sorta thing that doesn't do up. I can see every one of his abs. He's got on his black sunglasses.

"I went shopping. You like?"

I think everyone fucking likes him in that. "You trying to look more saintly?" I hop into the jeep.

"You reek of douche bag cologne."

"Oh yeah. Brad. Get this. He sat next to me all lunch hour telling me about our children and how I'd be his fucking June Cleaver husband."

Michael laughs loud. "You've been called a lot of things, but June Cleaver's not one of them."

I laugh too, because that's the fucking truth.

"You liked it didn't you?"

"What? No."

"You want a little bitty Dean."

"Actually in my head, he was a little bitty Michael. That'd be so fucking cute. Imagine the little scowl."

"He would not have a scowl."

"Not if he took after me."

"If he takes after you, Lord help us all. One of you is already enough of a pain in my ass."

That's as far as we go. We both know we can't have any little Deans or Michaels. It's the same reason we can never get married.

~DM~

"I've been waiting to fuck you all day, baby." Michael slams me into the wall inside his loft and peels my school jacket off. Holy fuck. It looks like he really went at the cleaning last night. Everything's sparkling.

"And I've been waiting to take this St. Michael get up off you since the fucking car."

"Oh no, I'm wearing this while I fuck you." He captures my lips and practically eats them, but I have to ruin his fun.

"I can't do this Michael, not until things are, resolved."

He peels himself away from me and moves to the fridge, pulling out two beers. "That's what your father said."

"I broke a rule Michael. Do you have any idea what that means in my house? There's no jury, no excuses, everyone's made aware of the rules, you break them, you're punished. It's actually a pretty good system. Simple. I like the concreteness of it all."

"I fucked up too." He takes a sip.

"Doesn't matter. Well, I mean it matters, but it's different. And it's still kind of unclear if you did fuck up—father said we should define that better."

"That's what your father said to me as well. And apparently I'm the one with the consensual authority. I'm to apologize profusely and never fucking breaking a rule again and in fact spanking you will assure you of this. It's quite the responsibility having to be perfect all the time."

"Okay, I'm sure my father didn't say that."

"Close to."

"You're going to make mistakes Michael."

"Lucky for me I don't get punished for them."

Yeah, because he's not punishing himself right now. "Because you're not wired that way. I need the guidance and the discipline. Thrive on it. If I don't get that from somewhere, the guilt will eat me alive. Trust me. One time Papa made me a deal, he wouldn't spank me until I came and asked him to. I told him I was never going to ask him. He laughed and said, "okay Kiddo." I was over his knee two days later—by my choice. I do well with rules and structure. If not I get chaotic. You know that. Besides, I have no desire to punish you, believe me."

"Yes, I know all that little Duck. I think I just don't want to spank you quite so severely." He pulls me to him and takes a swig of beer from behind my head.

"I'm sorry, were you under the impression the extremely long spankings I've endured with your angel hand were any less severe?"

"I'm not going to be easy on you."

"I don't expect you to be."

"You need to learn to obey me, Dean. Once you do, I'll feel much better I think. At least that's what your father says. Your daddy said something to that effect as well."

I nod. "Yes, sir." I tell him seriously. I know he likes it and I want him to know I'm just as committed. I can see why he'd be hesitant to spank me quite so harshly if he doesn't think I'm doing this for the right reasons.

It works. "Okay, go get my paddle please."

I put my beer down and scamper off to his office. Now for the fucked up thing you should know. Whenever Michael's given me a rule, or told me he's forbid something, or hell, a moment ago when he said I must learn to obey him, all of that gives me an excited thrill, one that goes straight to my cock.

But now that we've arrived at the actual punishment part, I'm a lot less turned on. It's like any other time I've been punished, by him. I'm reminded of how much I've disappointed him. I fucking _hate_ disappointing Michael. But as much as I'm not looking forward to the punishment, I'm looking forward to the resolution afterward. To me, it's justice and closure mixed in one.

When I come back out to the living room, that's when I notice Tom's not there. He's always 'there.' Michael sent him away for this. Tom's seen me get spanked plenty, so right away I can see how different this time is for Michael.

"Thank-you," he says when I hand him the paddle. He points to the sofa with his eyes. "Over there."

I nod and make my way over to the sofa. When he makes his way over and sits down, I'm actually fucking nervous and I don't know why. I've had plenty of spankings from Michael. I trust him. The whole thing just seems so fucking ominous. I make a joke to ease the tension. "Are you really going to spank me wearing that?"

"Don't you want this to be memorable?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll be 'remembering' it for at least two days."

"Three if you keep talking. Aren't you supposed to be at least acting contrite?"

"Fuck. Sorry. You're right, I'm just nervous."

"You've got nothing to be nervous about Duckling. I always take care of you." He pulls me down for a kiss, then begins unbuttoning my school pants, he takes them right off. When I'm over his lap he smoothes a hand over my ass, which still has the benefit of boxers.

"Now that we're here, you and I are going to have a little chat."

Wait. What?

That's when he decides to pull my boxer briefs down, so I'm all bare and fucking vulnerable. "Why did I make that rule, Dean?"

No more Duckling? "Um, respect. I'm real disre-fucking-spectful sometimes."

He's rubbing my bare ass now. "Good boy. If I'm going to be the authority figure in this relationship, which you consented to, asked for when you invited me to Sunday dinners, you will respect me and obey me as such Dean. But telling me to fuck off is something else too. Which is?" He punctuates his question with a few breathtaking swats.

"D-dismissive. It's fucking dismissive."

"Would you ever tell your father to fuck off?" More swats. And not the fun kind of swats.

"N-no, sir."

I can feel his smile from above me. "Now you're just trying to flatter me, so I'll stop lecturing you."

"No. I swear I'm not. Wouldn't dream of it." I maybe am a little. His hand fucking hurts.

"You would. But back to the matter at hand, what should we have done instead? Instead of you telling me to fuck off?"

"Talk about it."

"Right. It didn't help that I was being unreasonable at the time. For that I'm sorry. But other times will come up in this type of relationship in which you won't like what I'm saying, or a ruling I'm making. You still can't tell me to fuck off. Is that understood?"

"It's understood."

From there Michael warms my ass a bit. He's being a bit over cautious if you ask me, but I can tell you he's done a thorough job by the time he picks up his paddle. "One hundred strikes with my paddle was the agreed upon consequence."

He's being so formal. "I remember."

"All right. Let me know if you need a break, baby."

The first twenty are nothing even though I can tell he's being firm. They're good swats and ain't nothing wrong with his aim, I feel them, but my ass can take a lot. He stops every so often to rub my ass. "You okay?"

"I'm good."

When we get to forty that's when I start to squirm, the tears start at sixty and that's what we're both looking for. Spanking is a lot of things people don't think it is. People view it plainly as hitting and even abuse, but the emotional relief I get from the pain, because yes it fucking hurts, is amazing. You've got to reach the point of crying though, at least for me. There's something sent home to the brain when you access it through the body this way. A sense of relief; an established form of accountability; I won't dwell on my actions after this. I'm getting rid of how I feel. I know my actions hurt Michael; they drive him crazy at the best of times. I don't like making him feel that kind of crazy.

The last ten are hard. Especially since Michael says, "I hope this has served to make you think about how you will talk to me in future."

He puts more force behind the last ten. I'm sobbing and I need a fucking Kleenex and god am I glad that's over. He lets me cry over his lap for a moment before he takes my boxers the rest of the way off. He pulls me up to him and I curl into his chest. He runs a hand through my hair and kisses my forehead. "Go lie on the bed facedown."

I do as he asks and he takes his time rubbing aloe gel into the skin of my sore ass. "You okay, Duckling?"

"I'm good, Michael. Stop worrying."

"Fucking god that was nerve-wracking. I definitely wanted you to feel the spanking, but fuck, you should see how red your ass is."

Wow. Michael's not nearly as badass as he claims to be. That was fucking hard for him; I'm the one who got my ass whooped, but I feel bad for him having to do it. But just when I think I'm going to have to console him…

"Not that I couldn't get used to that. I mean, I'm really good at it, if I do say so myself. Not too shabby for my first time."

Or not. There's my Michael. I roll over on my side and he pushes the longer pieces of hair from my face. "Now that's done, we have some shit to figure out," he says.

"Like with Brad?"

"Yes," he says.

"After thinking about it, I think you're right, it does fall outside our norm. I can understand why you freaked out and went all 'I forbid it' on me." Daddy didn't think it did, and I don't really know what Papa thought, but they don't quite know every in and out of our relationship.

Michael and I have to make the final call on this one, and when I play it back, I think I would have fucking freaked if Michael was going to take some asshole out. Suddenly, just fucking other people doesn't seem so bad.

He nods. "I said we should keep the discussion of our other lovers to a minimum, but if you want to date someone, we do need to discuss that. That's no small thing."

"I don't want to date him. We'll go out for one night, I'll take his V-card and it will be done with. I would cancel the thing, but you and my father are so fucking persistent about me going."

"You've only ever been with me in our, what do you call it? Our functional-dysfunctional relationship. Maybe you'll like it Dean. It will be far more 'normal' I assure you."

"He wants me to be June Cleaver."

Michael laughs. "I'm going to buy you an apron and then fuck you in it."

"That's something I can get on board with. Maybe I'll just wear my pie baking apron over next time. So, what did you talk with my father about this morning."

"Our favorite subject. You."

"I know about me, but what?"

"I wasn't sure if my actions called for punishment. He assured me they did not and that he can't even say for certain I broke the rule. I simply overreacted."

In most domestic discipline relationships, there isn't a structure set up as in my family. The Head of House is in charge, end of story. When the Head of House breaks a rule, which in my experience, is rare to never (not that they don't make mistakes, it's just very rare they break an actual family rule) there is no consequence for them per se, but a good Head of House will feel awful about it. Especially when it's such a clear-cut rule. It's much the same in our family too. The rules for each house vary and the 'elders' don't interfere with that unless they were to get a complaint from the non-Head of House, or if they felt there was good reason to. Like if they expected abuse; which has never happened in our family in case you wanted to know.

That's what Daddy and Papa and even Grampa Winchester are for; to help us. Guide us. All relationships should have such a strong support system in place. They're not fucking easy.

As Papa probably actually told Michael, the HOH should be the example, but in the rare cases they're not, it deviates from their role to have their spouse spank them. They won't get the same thing out of it. It's better for the HOH to do something to reestablish his role.

My father would only punish Michael for something that was a rule broken between the two of them, for instance, skipping out on Sunday dinner. And even in that case, it's not the same kind of spanking. It's a different kind of chastisement, embarrassing almost. And it's purely senior alpha male exerting his dominance over less senior alpha and the less senior showing his respect. There's not necessarily an emotional release, really. It's purely a 'don't do that again or feel my wraith.'

I laugh my ass off at him.

He gives me a famous Michael scowl. "Is your ass not sore enough for you?"

"Sorry. I just can't believe you did that."

"Why not?" he sighs. "Don’t you get it by now? You're such a silly human."

"Get what?"

He nuzzles into me. "Never mind."

"So, you still going to fuck me?"

"Absolutely not. Your ass is too sore."

"Don't you think you should be asking me that question?"

"No."

This fucking sucks.

Michael gives me a sly smile and takes off his St. Michael pants; he leaves the shirt on (it doesn't cover much anyway). "Pass me the lube in that drawer."

Fuck, yeah. I reach my hand in blindly, but I don't feel lube first, I feel something else that I definitely recognize. I pull it out and hold it up. "You fucking kept this?" It's one of my fucking soothers.

He looks a bit embarrassed. "I forgot that was in there."

"No way. Uh-uh. I've been in this drawer a thousand fucking times and I've never come across this. _This_ just found its way in there."

His look darkens and he rips it out of my hand. He leans across me, putting it back in the drawer, and grabs the lube himself. "Hey!"

He smiles. "You wanted to put it in your mouth didn't you?"

"Ew. No."

"Didn't you use those 'till you were six?"

"Four."

"No I remember distinctly. You had a secret one you brought to bed with you and you were six."

"I was five, okay? I liked those things."

"I'm fact checking that with your daddy."

"Check all you want and on second thought, I think I have to go."

He dumps lube on my cock then starts to stroke it. "I think you'll want to stay for this."

I'm already enjoying his hand on my cock too much to leave. I was all fucking talk anyway. "Mmmm…so I have to settle for a handy, okay. That's fucking good, baby."

"No way, petal. After taking that spanking so well, you get a lot more than a lame handy," he says affronted.

"So we're really going with that nickname?"

He squeezes harder and smiles when I hiss and buck my hips toward him. "This is what's going to happen. You're going to put your arms over your head."

I do.

"Now, you're going to hold those there and if you don't, I'm going to stop what I'm doing and you really, really won't want me to stop what I'm going to do."

Then Michael does something he doesn't do often. He gets on top of me and slides his ass down my dick.

Holy fuck that felt good. "Jesus Christ Michael—you don't want to fucking prepare yourself?"

"I'm okay. Angel, remember? If I've damaged my vessel in any way, it'll heal quickly."

Kids, don't fucking try that at home, okay? "If you say so."

"I could always get off your dick, instead of getting off on your dick?"

"Fuck, no. Please."

"That's better. Remember. Don't. Fucking. Move."

Michael does give his ass a little time to adjust. Then he slowly, painfully slides his ass up and down my dick. There's no doubt he's still fucking me even though my dick is up his ass—just the way I fucking like it. It feels so fucking good and I have to grab the sheets to prevent my arms from moving. "Please, baby. Yeah. Keep doing that."

He does only pausing to lean down and suck on my neck and kiss my lips. "Say my name, whore," he says in my ear.

"Michael…Michael…Michael…"

"Good, boy." He picks up the pace, slamming onto my cock hard and fuck, I can't even pretend to fucking have stamina when he does this. I blow my load up his ass and still don't move my arms when I'm done. He grabs both my wrists in one hand and kisses me again. "You wanna suck on my soother, baby?"

I nod, he's up and off my dick and shoving his cock in my mouth.

~DM~

I stay at Michael's until nine-thirty in which he reminds me of my earlier curfew and that he should drive me home. "Nothing good can come from you and my father being friends."

"But it already has, pickle."

"Pickle? No."

"Then be a good boy and get your shoes on."

Michael loans me a pair of sweats, which are too big and don't squish my ass, so I don't have to put the tight private school pants on so soon.

When we arrive at my house, he walks me to the door and without asking, turns me around, pulls down my pants and inspects his handy work. "You know, I did a really nice job."

I spin away from him and pull my pants back up. "Yeah. You already congratulated yourself."

"Yet, you've said nothing."

"Forgive me if I don't take a picture and hang it on the fucking fridge."

He laughs. "Okay, okay. I'll see you Thursday morning. I'm coming to pick you up for school, you're coming to my house after so I can fuck your brains out."

"What's wrong with tomorrow?"

"I have to do something for Father and you should spend time with your daddy."

"Gotcha," I wink. He gives me another goodnight kiss and I head inside feeling loads better than I did last night.

"I'm home!" I screech to the eerily silent house. Our house is way too fucking big for just three people. But it is just right when the Colts invade, which is why they chose it.

"In here, noodle!"

Papa hates screeching, but Papa's not home. Daddy and I screech a lot when he's not around since it's not a house rule, just an annoyance of his we keep to a minimum when he's around. I head to the living room. "You been home long, Daddy?" I collapse on the couch next to him, careful of my tender ass.

"'Bout an hour. How did things go with Michael?"

"Great! You wanna see?"

"I'm good sweetheart. Unless you want me to rub aloe on for you?"

"No way! Besides, Michael did it twice. I'm all aloe saturated."

He laughs. "Okay. Too old. Just remember I changed your diapers for a very long time. It took you four years to reach three, in which you stubbornly refused to be potty trained."

"I remember. How can I forget with you reminding me all the time?"

Daddy smirks. "I'm glad it went well, sugar."

"What do you think about this 'date' on Friday? I know Papa says I should go, and Michael's all Team Castiel these days, but what do you really think?"

He runs a hand through my hair. "I think you and I both know where you'll be in the end, but you'd better go anyway to appease the 'upper authority,'" Daddy says in air quotes. See that's the big secret. We may be the ones following rules and being disciplined, but we run the real show, according to Daddy. "I also think you do have a bit of curiosity yourself to appease."

"Apparently, Brad's also DD. You know his parents from church. Are they?"

Daddy's face screws up confused. "I didn't think so, but I mean it's not something people necessarily announce. Still, your father and I are members of that community too, and I've never seen them. But not every DD couple is a member of our little club. Hard to say honey."

"Huh. Well I'll go, but that's it. I've made it clear to him we get one date."

Daddy looks a little worried now, but he doesn't voice whatever concerns are floating through his head.

~Friday~

Sitting hasn't been fun these past few days, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Daddy gets these kinds of spankings all the time and I never fucking know when, he's so graceful about the whole thing. I haven't seen him _have_ to stand very often. And I'm pretty sure those times were 'playtimes' and not discipline. It's their fucking sex life; I have no need to know about my parent's sex life. I already know more than most kids need to know for several reasons, but one being the accidently walking in on them thing. Knock kids. _Fucking knock_.

By Friday I'm fine. And the punishment was effective. I haven't even thought about telling Michael to fuck off and I've been a whole lot more respectful. I've noticed Michael's eased up a whole lot too. He's not as tense and his OCD has reclined a very little bit. I had no fucking clue just how much I was responsible for driving him insane. I always knew I was in part a trigger for his OCD, but wow, yeah okay, I need to give the guy a fucking break. I feel like a huge dick.

When I get home from school, I see Papa's suitcase by the front door and I can't fucking help it. I get that little kid enthusiasm fluttering through my body. Daddy's told me stories of the first time Papa went away, just before I 'turned' two. I was fine the first day, but by the second, I knew he was gone-gone and not just at work gone, and the whole time I was awake was spent by the front door crying for him. Daddy had to drag me away from the door to eat, and Skype calls were both a blessing and a curse for poor Daddy, because while it soothed his crying baby for the duration of the call, it reminded said baby that his papa was gone when goodbye time came.

I do have a memory of being five, and throwing up such a big fuss over Papa leaving, I earned myself a spanking. I still told him, "I don't care if you spank me Papa. I still don't want you to leave. And I'll still miss you when you're gone." He told me when I was older that he felt so fucking bad that time. I was such a cute little brat. I don't know how the two of them could stand me.

Papa would always claim that whatever Daddy went through when he was away didn't hold a candle to when Daddy went out for one night. They still disagree over that one to this day.

I always like to play it up, just for Papa even though I'm seventeen and not five. So I run into the kitchen shouting "Papa! Papa!"

He's sitting at the table, still in his trench coat (he must have just got home) Daddy's making him tea and smiles big when he hears what I'm up to. Papa jumps up from the table to receive me. I give him a big hug. "You're home."

"Hey, kiddo. Miss me?"

"Of course. Not to mention I couldn't take Daddy's moping another day."

They both know I'm joking. "How are things with you?" he says.

"It was awful. Michael spanked me good," I say smiling.

"Looks like you lived."

"No sympathy around here I tell you."

"I hear tonight's the big date?"

"You're only just home and the two of you are already talking about me?" I sit at the table with Father.

"You're our favorite topic, Dean Bean," Daddy says.

I'm everyone's favorite topic. Apparently. "Yeah, and he's been bothering me all week. I can't wait to get this over with."

"I understand he's coming to pick you up?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Bring him in. I want to meet the lad," Papa says.

"Not necessary. Really Papa."

"I want to meet him Dean," he says firmly.

"You've met him at church plenty."

I'm given the look from Father that says we've moved from playful to crossing a line of respect, because what I've just done is considered arguing. But I push a little anyway, hoping since he just got home he'll be a little more flexible.

"Okay, you want to 'meet' him. I thought you and Daddy'd be busy is all." And I don't want Papa to fucking meet him, so that comes out a bit snarkier than I meant it to.

"I sincerely don't appreciate your tone young man."

I blush and look at my hands. "Sorry."

He's tapping his fingers on the table deciding if we need to have a talk. He's been slightly irritated with me since the whole 'Sunday dinners' thing. Each toe I step out of line, he wonders if he's quite got his point across.

Daddy puts a mug of tea down for the three of us. "Are you nervous, Pumpkin Butter?"

Now I feel worse. Daddy gives me the benefit of the doubt as usual, when all I was really being was an ass. "No. I just don't think this is important."

"There, that's why. I knew there was a reason I was concerned," Father says. "I don't know Brad well, but I'll bet tonight is pretty important to him."

"He's excited," I admit reluctantly.

"You need to treat this with equal empathy. You agreed to it, you need to respect how he might feel if you treat him like he doesn't matter."

"But I didn't want to go. I was going to cancel the thing, but you and Michael encouraged me to keep the date."

"Nu-uh. I don't think so, Dean. You agreed to the date in the first place without Michael or I there to tell you what to do; though on that note, perhaps you should think a little longer before making such decisions; ones that end up affecting others so. You'll break the poor guy's heart cancelling. I bet all the boy's hearts are broken over not being able to date Dean Winchester."

He's trying to make me smile; it works a bit. "There might be some broken hearts around campus, but really, he's this football jock—I'm so not into football jocks, he's really good looking and knows it, super into himself; always has to get his way."

"Huh. Sam, do we know any hockey jocks like that?"

"Nuh-uh. No sir," Daddy says smiling.

"All right. I hear you loud and clear. I'll stop being a jerk. He's not that bad I guess, except he wants me to wear an apron."

"You look good in an apron, Kiddo," Father tries to joke. He tries so hard to joke. The three of us chat a bit more and Father tells us about his trip, we drink our tea until he excuses himself to shower and wash the airplane grime off of him.

When Papa's gone Daddy gets up and soundly whacks me upside the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You know what for, Dean Winchester."

"I didn't mean to push him."

"You did," he says, taking Papa's and my mugs away. "You know he's tired after travelling. He works hard your papa does, he wants to come home to a family who respects that hard work, not a son who can't listen to a simple request."

"All right. I'm sorry." Daddy always gives the most heart wrenching lectures. I usually feel like a heel after them.

"Well you Sur, are walking on thin ice these days. This is my last warning Dean Daniel."

Yeah you don't want to piss Papa off, but you really don't want to piss Daddy off. Because pissed off Daddy goes to Papa and Papa really doesn't like it when Daddy's upset. I swallow. "Maybe you want help in your garden tomorrow? Huh, Daddy?"

No answer. Yeah, he's not talking to me. Fuck. I hate Daddy being mad at me more than anything; it's fucking heartbreaking. "Sunday dinner? I can bake pies." I smile up at him with my most charming smile. Still nothing.

"And I'll volunteer at whatever thing you want me to volunteer at."

"Church Bake sale. Baking starts Monday."

Why do I feel fucking hustled? "Yes, Daddy."

~DM~

The doorbell rings. "I'll get it!" Dean screeches across the house.

I cringe, but only a little. I'm just a bit tired from travelling, so I'm easier to annoy than usual, which isn't all that hard in the first place. Still, I've told that boy often enough not to screech in the house.

I'm showered and making my way back to the kitchen where I find my irritated husband putting together a 'snack' for his son to eat on his date.

I already figure this date doesn't know Dean as well as he should. Especially if he expects Dean to sit and watch him practice _then_ play a scrimmage game without food. Dean will literally starve to death. Or that's what he'll tell us in a text saying: Please bring food now. And Daddy who will go running for anything Dean's asked for, will be stopped by me for about fifteen minutes, until Daddy somehow convinces me Dean is going to starve and we both have to go running with food, because now I've got to actually see him eat before I'm convinced he'll be all right.

To save everyone time and heartache, Sam sends him off places with food and tonight is clearly a 'with food' event.

"What's the matter Baby?"

He freezes. I wasn't supposed to see him upset. "Your son," he admits.

Sam only calls him 'my son' when he's pissed at him. I almost want to laugh. It's comical watching those two go at or, it's more like Sam gives Dean some kind of scolding followed by the silent treatment then Dean unwittingly gives himself his own punishment in the form of chores or volunteering. He then proceeds to be sickeningly sweet to his daddy 'till daddy forgives him.

I'm about to ask what 'my son' did, when said son walks in the door. With him is the largest seventeen-year-old I've ever seen. Is this guy for real? Not only is this kid clearly on steroids, but he looks about twenty-five. He's hot though. So hot, I feel like I need to shield my husband from him. He's got muscles in places I've never seen muscles and his hair, dear God, it's not long, but it looks soft enough I'd put him in a hair commercial. And if he wasn't already big enough to see, I could smell the kid a mile away. He's wearing at least a bottle of cologne.

Dean's blushing like crazy and I see why when I notice their hands are clasped. "Uh, Father, Daddy, you remember Brad from church?"

"I do son. Hello Brad, pleased to make your acquaintance in our home."

"Hello, sir," he says shaking my hand firmly. "I thank-you for allowing me to take Dean out this evening."

That makes Dean blush hotter. Sam turns around to shake Brad's hand too. "Good to see you again Bradley. Your mama makes the best strawberry jaw. Can we count on her making it for the church bake sale, set for the end of June?"

"For here and Texas. I saw her making enough to supply this church and the one back home."

This kid's even got a voice that's way sexier than a teenager's is supposed to be. How exactly is Dean resisting this guy?

"Perfect. That's great. She's always so good to us."

"Your pies are nothing short of spectacular Mr. Winchester," he says to Sam.

"Well you'll be pleased to know that Dean here is going to help me this year."

Volunteering then. Sam hustled him into volunteering.

"Aw, sweet thang. I didn't know you could bake," Brad says to Dean who looks highly embarrassed by the endearment. And maybe it's the sadist in me, but I'm enjoying this way too much.

"Oh, he can. In fact he looks excellent in an apron."

I can't believe my husband said that. I have to hold back my laughter. A reminder to our dear son not to fucking mess with Daddy. Dean blushes even hotter.

"And this year, we're going to add my mama's secret recipe pickled beans to the mix. He's going to help me in the garden all weekend, aren't you sugar?"

"I wouldn't be anywhere else, Daddy." Dean's voice is sickly sweet.

Volunteering _and_ chores? He must have really pissed Sam off.

"All right, have fun boys. Dean, home by ten please."

My boy balls his fists, but says, "yes, sir." I wonder how long that will last before he flips about that curfew.

Dean's mostly grateful to get the hell out of the kitchen, but he stops off to see his daddy. "See you later, Daddy."

"Here you go, sweetheart," Sam says and hands him a bag with enough food to feed three boys. "There's lots for Brad too."

"How thoughtful, Mr. Winchester. I was going to take Dean out for food after the game, but this is great."

"Trust me, Brad. Our boy will still be hungry after the game. Have fun," Sam says.

Dean practically runs, dragging Brad behind him.

"Chores and volunteering? Sam, what did he do to piss you off?"

"Our boy is selfish! Selfish!" He throws a cloth into the sink. Wow. He's mad.

"First with the hunting thing, then Sunday night dinner, next with asking to stay home from Texas, and now with the arguing, not to mention what he said about that poor boy and this whole date fiasco. He shouldn't have made this date in the first place. Now that poor boy is going to get his heart broken. I can see how into Dean he is."

"Stay home from Texas? Arguing with me? Sam?" He's not making sense. Though I do catch the hunting and Sunday dinners thing, but I already spoke with Dean about those. It is a lot in a short time period.

"When you ask him to do something it should be 'yes Papa' not 'I'll decide if you matter enough, Papa.' And you just got home and you're tired," Sam sighs. "I'm sorry Cassy. You're right. I've coddled him all his life because he's charming and I freaking love him so much, but it doesn't help him and—"

"Baby, calm down. I'm fine. He got a little lippy, but for Dean that's cherries. I've heard him a few times when he thinks we're out of earshot."

"Oh, Lord. Don't tell me, I don't wanna know. Fudge. He's like Jensen, ain't he?" Sam's accent always comes back in full force after he's been back home and when he's freaking out. Also when he's been drinking, but he doesn't drink so often.

"Do I really want to know about Texas?" I change the subject, because Dean is like Jensen and Sam should know, when our son turns fifty and Sam's likely too old to kill him.

"No. You don't. I warned him and so far he's listened, but judging from his behavior, I don't know how long that's going to last."

"Baby?"

"He asked me to help him ask you if he could skip out of Texas this year."

I start tapping my fingers again. I was right. I should have lectured his ear off. "Absolutely not."

"I told him you wouldn't like it. At least he hasn’t asked yet," Sam says, but it's only small solace.

"I can't believe he'd consider letting everyone down like that." Okay. I'm pissed and disappointed. He is thinking of himself, as teenagers do, but it's our job to point that out to him; get him to remember there are other people in the world aside from Dean Winchester. "He shouldn't ask. He won't like the punishment he receives."

"I'm sorry, Cas."

"Don't be sorry, Baby," I sigh.

"I'm just fudging ticked off. I'm only ranting. I love my baby boy; I'm sure he'll do the right thing," Sam says.

I love our baby boy too, and I know Dean wants to do the right thing, but he sometimes needs more guidance than Sam wants to believe. He tends to have a bit of 'our boy is perfect Mama syndrome.' Not always, just sometimes.

"Still, I think I should talk with him."

"Will you wait, Cassy? Just until he either asks you about Texas, or before we leave?"

I can never resist Sam when he's close to tears, "I'll wait Baby." But one more toe out of line and I'm tanning his ever-loving hide.


	6. The Complicated Life of Dean Winchester (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we please remember that Dean is an impulsive, slightly immature 17 year-old who is still learning and does stupid things sometimes? Like _really_ stupid things.

I feel like a fucking douchebag.

For a few reasons. Obviously because I look like some love-sick boyfriend here to cheer on 'my man.' I'm even wearing his fucking _letter jacket_. He insisted I should wear it for tonight. Fine. Whatever he wants. I'm starting to feel like a fucking escort.

But that part is actually not too bad. The stands are fairly packed so I'm pretty 'lost in the crowd.' It just doesn't help I'm here alone. I've chatted with a few kids from school, but it's only led to the inevitable questions of 'where's Hannah?' and 'are you here with Brad?' Since they can see his last name on the fucking jacket. I'm usually with Hannah when I come to school events and having to admit I'm here with the captain of their football team is just so fucking rom-com. Least to me it is, because this is fucking comical, me here.

Especially since a few of them have decided to tell me they've been 'hoping we'd get together for awhile.' What the actual fuck? Is there a club? It's also led them to believe I'm one of 'their' crowd, (which I try to avoid at every possible turn, since I'm not and they're not _my_ crowd) and they've already started inviting me to their high society bullshit.

I guess now that I'm supposedly dating Bradley Davis, I'm desirable as a friend to these jerks. Jesus Christ, I'm already feeling like his fucking trophy wife. So yeah, I do feel like a douche over that, but I more feel like a douche, a different kind of douche, because Daddy's upset with me. I just can't think straight when he is. Daddy's my real best friend. Papa is Papa and I fucking love him to death, I want him to be proud of me, I do whatever the fuck I can to please him, but we aren't pals like Daddy and I are. And that's good you know. It's been good having one parent who's relentlessly strict (even if at times it's a downer on the old social life) and one who I can have as a kind of buddy.

Not to say Daddy isn't like a freaking mother hen, 'cause he is, but our relationship is just so fucking special. I feel even worse when I open the food he's made for me and see he's made me enough to either feed the entire football team, or one Dean Winchester. Well except the stupid sandwich he made for my 'date,' the one with a note on saying: For Brad. Hands off Dean Winchester.

But what if I get hungry after all this? His sandwiches are better than any stupid place Brad will take me and Daddy knows exactly what I like. First, he makes sure we're always stocked up on this special prosciutto he gets from the Italian Deli I like in town. He uses this fresh baked baguette thing and tops it with real mozzarella, tomatoes, lettuce, grills it on the Panini machine and brushes specialty olive oil onto the bread. Then there's the Italian salsa style dipping sauce, which really makes it. It's so fucking good. Since all of the ingredients are high quality, they're Daddy approved. And of course he's got some of the vegetables I actually like (I never liked vegetables before, but growing up with Daddy such a health nut, it was find a vegetable I like, or starve) packed in the bag too, but I'll only eat those if I have room. I probably won't have room for them.

I almost can't eat the food he's made, I feel so bad, almost, but when my stomach growls I dig in and start eating. I decide to save one of the many sandwiches Daddy's made me for after wherever Brad takes me.

At least that boring fucking warm-up is over with and they're actually playing. I can't help wondering what Michael's doing right now? He's probably at Babylon. I'd so much rather be there.

At half-time, he runs across the field to the stands where I am, instead of going back to the change room to do whatever it is football guys do in there. In hockey it's usually get reamed out by Coach whether we're doing good or bad, and _quit getting so many penalty minutes Winchester, or instead of Captain, your new position is stick-guy_. Stick-guy. There's no such thing (least not in the minor leagues)—that's why I fucking love Coach. He's always coming up with shit like that.

"C'mere Sweetness," he says pulling of his helmet and I swear I hear everyone fucking sigh, a few girls definitely wet their panties. I blush and roll my eyes, but go to him before he has the chance to call me something else.

"Don't you have to go smash chests or something with your buddies?"

He's just tall enough and plenty strong enough to fucking pick me up from under my armpits and out of the stands (he's a lot fucking bigger than me), and spins me so I'm on the field; sets me down and kisses my fucking neck. Feeling off fucking kilter, I reach out and the only thing to grab onto is him, so now I'm holding onto his thick torso. He rests his arms on my shoulders, bending one forearm so the hand attached can brush my hair back, he adds a kiss to my forehead. "You look good in my jacket. Did you see me score that touch down for you?"

His eyes are really blue, so are Michael's but his are too.

"Um, yeah." Do you thank someone for that?

"Good." He kisses my neck again, one of my highly fucking erogenous zones and I can't help the hiss I let out, yeah my cock's hard. I'm male and I'm me.

"Okay. Time for you to be getting back to your men team captain. Won't your Coach ream you out for being out here with me?" I'm still fucking holding onto him; I feel like I'm going to fall over if I let go. Why do I feel like I'm going to fall over?

"It's just a scrim game. And besides, I usually get some extra leeway from Coach. I'm kinda his favorite."

He nuzzles his forehead into mine. "Besides, tonight is about you. If I get in trouble, it's worth it." His smile is fucking glowing and I remember what Papa said and he's fucking right: This is real fucking important to Brad. I also now see the problem with dating and why a fuck and leave policy should be the only thing Michael and I have from now on. I'm beginning to realize how real Brad's feelings for me are.

He pulls away and runs his thumb over my lower lip. "God I wanna kiss these." He doesn't though, respecting 'the rules,' but keeps me pulled close. All eyes are on us. And oh God, I'm feeling fucking butterflies. "Did you eat?"

"Yep. There's something for you too." I don't offer it to him now, knowing all too well what happens when you eat actual food in the middle of play.

"Good. Not much longer—this game's a short one."

I nod, wracking my brain for some kind of snarky comment, but there isn't one. "Okay. Time for you to go back," he says. And just as I'm wondering how the hell I'm going to get back up there, he manhandles me with ease, spinning me around to face the stands and says, "one, two, three, jump." I do, and he lifts me from the torso; it's high enough I can grab the edge and he's already got a hand under my foot, so I can climb over effortlessly. It's like we've fucking done it a million times.

The crowd cheers for their captain as he runs back to the dressing room for whatever's left of their half-time and I'm left wondering what the fuck just happened. I head back to my seat and hope the rest of the game ends faster than the first. When the game starts up again, this hot blonde, Kelsey, saddles up to me. I know who she is, but I don't have any classes with her, since I'm in all the dorky advanced ones my fathers made me take. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately for me, Kelsey is your stereotypical dumb blonde.

"Hi Dean."

"Hey Sugar, watcha doing here?" Yes we've already fucked.

"I'm here with Ryan, Brad's bestie. I didn't know you were dating Brad."

"We're not dating. It's date. Singular."

"Not what it looked like down there. You two looked pretty steamy."

We were? "Nope. You're reading from the wrong playbook. I came to watch his game and that's it."

"That's too bad. I was going to suggest a double date."

Yeah. You and everyone else have way too many fucking plans for Brad and I. "Sorry to disappoint."

She ends up making for pretty decent conversation for the rest of the boring game. I can't wait to go do whatever the fuck it is Brad wants to do then go home. When the game does finally end, we're still chatting and Brad signals he's going to shower.

I talk to Kelsey still more, deciding maybe I was too hasty to give her 'dumb blonde' status. She's not genius, but she's actually pretty cool. The things you learn when you talk to someone instead of just trying to fuck them. "You going to Miller's tomorrow night?" She says.

"Wouldn't miss it. I'll be there with Hannah."

"Okay Deanie. I think that's your man coming, and I think I see mine. I'll catch up with you again?"

"Yeah, here." I grab the phone out of her hand and pop my number in. I would consider us officially friends now, so that's not breaking any rules and I have no desire to fuck her. She kisses my cheek and leaves. Sweet. That will score me Daddy points I sorely need. He loves when I make friends.

Brad comes up into the quickly vacant stands and sits beside me. "You know Ryan's Kelsey?"

He looks a little irked, but I'm not sure. "Oh, yeah. I hit that at one of your games. See and you say I've never been to a game of yours before. She's sweet though."

He's kinda quiet and there's this awkward sort of silence where I'm wondering what the fuck happened. Something I said? "Did you see the second touch down I scored for you?"

Did I see any of the game after the second half? No. But Brad is pretty fucking good. Not only have I heard that, but I did watch him closely for some of the game, and why would he ask if he hadn't? I assume it's safe to lie. "Oh yeah, thanks."

He frowns. "I didn't score anymore touchdowns. You weren't watching."

"No, I was. I just thought it was you; guess it was someone else. All you football players look alike out there," I tease complete with Dean smile. Fuck. I'm fucked.

"What was the final score—no looking," he says as I try to fucking look at the scoreboard.

"Okay, fuck. You caught me. I wasn't paying attention."

He completely deflates and since Papa pointed it out to me earlier I see what I've done now and I feel fucking bad. I really should try harder on this date; fine, I commit myself. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can make it up to you." I pull out the sandwich Daddy made. "You see this—this is the best fucking sandwich you're ever going to eat." I set it all up for him, with a little container of sauce telling him about the finer points of the sandwich and how you should dip it for maximum sauce coverage.

"Wow! This is good." His sunny smile is back and my whole body feels relieved. He wolfs down the sandwich. "Your daddy is amazing. That was the best sandwich ever. Only downside is it being gone, I don't suppose there's another one?"

Well, fuck, yeah there is. But it's the one I saved for me. I don't want to disappoint though, 'cause I'm still feeling pretty shitty I didn't bother to watch the rest of his game. "There's another one," I say very reluctantly, but pull it out. I want to cry. I get him set up and watch painfully as he starts in on my fucking sandwich. I'm getting pretty hungry again. My stomach actually growls.

"Is that your stomach?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you said you ate?"

"That was hours ago." I leave out that I've already eaten three sandwiches.

"Why don't you have that other half? I can't have you starving the first time I take you out. Jeez Dean, I didn't realize you ate so much."

I'm not the 'no that's okay, you go ahead,' type. I pick up the other half of the sandwich and mow down. "Easy on the sauce there sweet thang, I need some of that." He snatches the little sauce container away, smiling devilishly, and holds it outta my fucking reach.

"C'mon. I need proper bread to sauce ratio, Davis," I say trying to fucking reclaim the sauce without fucking spilling it.

"I'll give you more sauce, but you gotta c'mere." Okay, I blush all over, 'cause he's pointing to his fucking lap.

When he sees I'm not moving, he continues eating his half of the sandwich, making a show of dipping his final bite in the sauce. "Wow, so good. Bet you'd like the rest of this, huh?"

"Quit being a dick. Give it."

"You gotta c'mere Sugar." Sometimes I hate the things that turn me the fuck on. My dick fucking likes when he talks to me like that. And God dammit. I want that sauce. The sandwich is good without the sauce, but it's not the same. I climb into his lap.

"This is blackmail."

"Here," he holds it out for me and I'm immediately too distracted by the sauce to care about anything else. I move to pluck it out of his hand, but he pulls it away again. "I wanna kiss first, right here," he says pointing at the space next to his lips.

He's going to get punched pretty quick, but I comply, just wanting to finish my sandwich, afraid I'm about to starve to death. "Okay, I won't tease you no more sweets." He gives me the sauce for real this time and I finish off my half in his lap, glaring at him.

"Aw, I was just having fun," he says, pushing the bit of hair falling in my eyes back out of my face. "Don't come between Dean and food, I got it Winchester. I think you'll like where I'm taking you though."

I take my last bite. "Where?" I say with my mouth full—thankfully Daddy's not here to scold me.

He holds out his hand for the empty sauce container and puts it off to the side, then arranges me so I'm fucking straddling him. I can feel his hard cock and I'm almost full enough I've reached that point where it's hard to decide between sex and food. "There's a new little soda shoppe in town everyone keeps talking about. They've made it fifties style, they've got sundaes, milkshakes and burgers."

"Burgers and milkshakes?" I smile. "Thank God, I'm starved." Guess I am more hungry. "Someone ate the other half of my fucking sandwich."

He laughs staring up at me. "I thought maybe that was yours, that's real sweet, thanks for doing that."

Thank fuck. I did good and am pretty sure I repaired hurting his feelings for not watching his game.

"You're gorgeous, Winchester. You know that?"

Jesus Christ. I'm blushing again.

"Don't be shy, but you're real sweet when you do that too" he says.

"I'm not fucking sweet, or shy Davis."

"Yeah yah are. But I won't tell anyone—secret's safe with me, sweets." He stands up with me and I let my legs fall, so I'm standing on the fucking ground, but I'm feeling that same clumsiness I was earlier when he came to visit me at half-time. Thankfully the stands are completely empty now. I pack up my bag and containers, but Brad insists he carry it.

"I'm not an invalid. Just because you're stronger than me, doesn't mean I can't carry that."

He takes it anyway having none of my complaints. "I know you ain't an invalid. It's just the proper thing to do for one's date Dean. Can't you just let me be a gentleman?" He seems a bit irritated and I remember I wanted to make the rest of this date good, so I concede and let him carry my shit to the car. I guess it is kinda thoughtful; so long as he doesn't think I'm weak just because I'm smaller than him. I'm still fucking strong. I may not be the largest player on my hockey team, but I'm a decent size. Just because Brad's a fucking juice monkey.

We drive to the place he was talking about, it's called: The Soda Fountain and it does look kinda cool. It's pretty busy inside. Almost the whole football team and their boyfriends and girlfriends are here. There's even a jukebox and a few couples on the floor dancing. It's quite the contrast from the darkness and flashing disco lights of Babylon.

Ryan and Kelsey wave us over. They exchange a couple pleasantries, with Brad gripping my hand tight the whole time making us look very together and Kelsey smiles smugly at me. I spent quite a bit of time convincing her Brad and I weren't together, now she really doesn't believe me. "We're gonna be over there, Rye. We'll come by and say hi before we leave."

We get a table that's a little away from the team and is kinda private. He pulls out a menu, I just wait for the server. "Ain't you gonna look at the menu, sugar?"

"You said this place has burgers, right?"

He laughs. When the sever comes, I order a burger with bacon and fries and a chocolate milkshake and not wanting to be out done, he orders the same. "I don't know where you pack it all away," he says amazed.

"I have an extremely fast metabolism." I've always been a big eater, but the amount I eat now is a bit ridiculous. We think it's a side affect of the Modlenol. It may have slowed aging, but with that seemed to come better quality organs. My thyroid works pretty damn good. It's not so fast it's a health risk, but it's fast enough I seem to have to eat a lot. It's also why it's hard for me to keep a lot of muscle on. I need to eat to keep my current size. Any fucking smaller and I would have trouble keeping up in hockey. Especially since I like to play rough.

He's staring at me again like I'm the fucking world. He needs to stop, because I'm still adamant this is a one shot deal, but I don't want to ruin it for him just yet. I'll have to let him down at the end of the night.

"So when you leave for Texas this year?"

"In a couple weeks. You?"

"Same."

Fuck this feels super awkward. No wonder it's always better to skip to the sex part. Since it's already like, well this, I decide to just put it all out there. "So, are your parents DD?"

"A little. It doesn't sound like they have quite the system, like you were mentioning about your family, but my daddy's in charge so to speak. Though Mama can sure get Daddy to do what she wants sometimes. It'd be the same for us. I'd make the final decisions, but I'd want all your input, gorgeous."

"We can't be just like them. You'd have to follow the Winchester way. There's no exceptions to that, or Father simply won't give his permission." I don't even know why I'm bothering to explain.

"Well, I guess I'm following the Winchester way. I mean it Dean. I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

Okay, that's enough. "We're going to have a good time tonight, Brad. A great time even, but tonight's as far as this goes."

"You're so stubborn. Is he really that great?"

"Yes. I'm in love with him."

That stones us into silence for a bit, I reach across the table to take his hand. "But tonight I promised I'd be yours. So I'm yours tonight." I'm wearing his fucking jacket for Christ's sake.

His sunny smile comes back.

"Tell me about our children again—what are their names?"

"Well we need a Junior, so our first son is Bradley," he smiles.

"That's bullshit. What about me?"

"His middle name can be Dean."

"Fine, but our second son is Samuel after my daddy and the little girl is Grace after my father."

"Those are fine names Dean. I'm just pleased you remembered."

Aw fuck. I'm giving him hope now; I was just fucking around. A song comes on the jukebox I can't help but sing. "Oooo-oooh-ooo-oh, for the longest time…"

"Billy Joel?"

"Yeah, that's right. My parents and my uncle used to sing me all kinds of songs when I was little to put me to sleep. This was one. They'd sometimes do a quartette type thing. They're a bit insane." But I love them for it.

"You have a good singing voice. Sing me some more?"

Okay. "Now I know that happiness goes on. That's where you found me, when you put your arms around me. I haven't been there for the longest time."

That's when the server brings us our food. "You should quit your day job," she says with a wink.

I quickly stuff my mouth full of burger a bit embarrassed. It probably looks like I was serenading Brad. "She's right. You're really good. All of their singing to you must have paid off."

I don't tell him that I've been known to sing with them. His compliment makes me smile; it's a huge compliment. I always like being told I'm like them. It's important to me. We eat and the food is good—not as good as Daddy's sandwiches, but good. "So? I do good bringing you here?"

"Yeah. This place is cool."

When I'm finally full, he suggests we dance with the other kids and burn off the calories. "I can think of other ways to burn off calories," I tell him.

"Oh we'll get to that part. C'mon. It'll be fun."

I roll my eyes, but I let him drag me up with the other kids. Kelsey and Ryan are up dancing too and another couple of guys from the team; they look like they're together. All the football players are wearing their jackets proudly, with me wearing Brad's. I finally figured out they won.

Brad and I dance to the oldies playing, I recognize many of them thanks to my parents. I've got my arms around his neck and I sing some more to him hoping he'll laugh. Of course another Billy Joel (Still Rock and Roll to me) comes on and he smiles big, so yeah, I ham it up for him. Everyone knows it and the whole dance floor is singing, jumping and dancing. "You're fun Dean," Kelsey says when it's over. Her and I were almost doing a duet to the song. "You make sure he stays around Bradley."

"Yes, Ma'am," he says and pulls me to him looking down at me adoringly. It is nice to be looked at like that. I smile back at him. He kisses my forehead. He's been very careful not to kiss my lips even if it's clear he wants to.

"So, should we head out? There's one more place I want to take you before I take you home and it's getting close to your curfew."

Stupid early curfew. Brad hasn't complained about it once though, he just seems to respect it. I hope the place he's taking me is somewhere we can have sex. "Sounds good."

Of course he insists on paying. I just let him. All these stupid kids have more money than they know how to spend; I guess I do too, my parents have a bank account set up for me and I'm allowed to take pretty much as much money out of it as I want, unless it's a purchase exceeding a thousand dollars. Then I have to discuss it with them. Seriously, a grand? What am I going to buy for a grand? I try not to spend too much. And I can't remember a time my parents have ever said no to something I've asked for, most likely because I tend not to ask for material things. I think that's from my old life too, but I'm not sure. Modlenol is funny shit. My old life has gotten more and more hazy with time. Sometimes I almost don't believe some of the memories still floating around in my head. They don't seem like they're me; it's like they happened to someone else.

We do a round of goodbyes, everyone's sorry we're leaving—apparently I'm the life of the party. But soon we're climbing into Brad's giant black truck.

We drive and I try to figure out where we're going. What the? Is he taking me to park? Wow, I feel like I've stepped back in time tonight, but I guess this is how teenagers have to have sex. Not everyone has the benefit of their older partner's loft and not everyone's as brave as Dean Winchester doing it wherever the fuck he feels like it.

"Will you take the jacket off and get in the backseat for me sweets? I've been waiting all night to suck that cock 'a yours."

Giddy up! I'm down with that. Now I know what you're thinking, what about his purity ring? Isn't this this a form of sex? I tend to agree that it is and I don't know the dude or anything, but from what I've heard, I'm pretty sure Jesus would too. But you'd find it real interesting what kids feel is and isn't in violation of their 'purity vow.' I'll show you.

"Thought you had a purity ring to consider?"

"I'm not sticking my cock in you Dean, but it's okay for us to do other stuff. The other stuff's not really sex."

See? And I don't give a fuck what he thinks his vow means. Especially when his definition results in me getting my cock sucked. 'Sides, I'm still wondering if I can't get him to do more. Challenge accepted.

I hop in the back of his truck climbing over the console. He has to get out to hop in the back. The backseat of his large truck is pretty spacious, but it's still going to be awkward truck sex. He pulls me to him by the collar of my shirt and starts feasting on my neck; which he's really fucking good at—I know he's done this before. That purity ring is bullshit. I want to laugh, but I hold it in and enjoy what he's doing; also, I begin working my Dean magic. I know exactly what jocks like him like. I become a compliant little doll. "Mmmhmm," I moan. "That's good Davis."

His eyes get a bit darker than the sunny blue they've been all night. "You just wait, sweet thang." His hand reaches to my crotch to slowly unfasten my jeans as he continues to suck on my neck.

"No hickies," I tell him. Michael and I don't have a rule about hickies, but I know he hates seeing them on me as much as I hate seeing them on him.

"I won't."

There's an exciting thrill waiting for him to finally pop that last button on my jeans. I'm kinda wondering if he'll be as good at cock sucking as he is with the fucking way he seems to know just where to kiss my neck. Fuck, I'm already beginning to pant; that's unusual for me.

He continues with the slow theme as he peels my jeans down my ass and I have to awkwardly lift my ass so he can get them down my legs, he pulls his mouth from my neck, so he can look at me while he finishes de-jeaning me. "You doing okay, beautiful?"

"This ain't my first rodeo cowboy," I tease him. I don't know why he thinks he has to be all fucking sappy and sweet. I kinda want him to hurry the fuck up.

"Oh I know. That's not what I meant, you seem a bit impatient."

"Well, yeah. I'm horny."

"You're gonna have to wait. I'm going to take my time."

I don't groan, but I frown and he laughs. "Don't worry, gorgeous, I'll make it worth the wait."

He surprises me by using my white V-neck shirt to trap my arms behind my back. He lifts it over my head, and trails the shirt down my arms leaving it there. "That's so you behave, Sugar."

From there, he drives me fucking crazy, kissing and nipping every patch of skin on my body. I have these stupid over sensitive nipples, which he discovers quickly; licking and flicking them with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth. All I can do is writhe, resting back on my trapped arms as I am, completely open for this fucking torture. This better be some fucking blow job.

When his lips finally reach the waistband of my boxer briefs, I'm fucking begging him to just stick my cock in that fucking talented mouth of his. I need it at this point. My hips keen upward toward his chin. He laughs. "Would you like something Darlin'?"

"Yes. _Yes._ Suck my cock, dude."

He smiles. "I'll think about it."

Asshole. I don't know why, but it's real fucking exciting when his fingers reach the waistband and his fingers play there, running them back and forth, just underneath the elastic. But he doesn't pull them down just yet, he uses his mouth to bite at my leaking cock on the outside of the cotton. "You're killing me, baby. Fuck," I say. He laughs fucking evilly.

In one smooth motion he whips down my boxers and my dick is in his hot mouth. And holy shit. What he can do with that mouth and my cock. He's done this before. Purity ring my fucking ass. I'm moaning and fucking his mouth and spread my legs as much as I can with my boxers still on as his finger finds my pucker. "Oh, God. Yeah, like that Sugar. Fuck."

Then he takes his fucking mouth away and I want to cry. "Is that good sweet boy?"

It would be a lot better if you get your fucking mouth back on my cock. "Fuck yeah."

He removes my boxers and sits me up taking the shirt away from my arms and untrapping them. I'm completely naked now, he's still fully dressed. He takes a moment to stare at my body; his eyes are soft. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You deserve to be worshipped like that. Every day. Every night. If only you'd let me, I would."

Oh my God. I think he fucking means it. His eyes actually look a little teary. "I think you're wearing too many clothes, Sugar. How about we even the playing field?" I say trying to avoid saying anything back to that. He nods.

I reach for his jeans and unbutton the top button, slow like he did to me, but then I rip the others the rest of the way open Dean style. He laughs. "You excited to see what I got in there?"

"Hell yeah!" I'm not disappointed. His cock matches his ginormous body. It's huge. Like, Ron Jeremy huge. "Fuck, dude. You should go into porn."

"You like my cock? I'll save it just for you. I mean it. I won't fuck anyone, just you."

"I do like your cock. Let's see if my big mouth can fit it, sugar."

He shakes his head. "I got a better idea. There's some lube in the console. Can you grab it?"

What? Is he going to fuck me? Sure. I fucking grab that shit quick before he changes his mind and pass it to him as he pulls his pants and boxers down to his ankles. "Come straddle me Darlin'."

I do and decide I want to see his big football chest. So I begin unbuttoning, the short-sleeved checkered shirt he's wearing and run my hands up his creamy skin. Wow. He's just so big.

Our cocks are touching, so like the cocky shit I am, I begin rubbing my cock up and down his. Brad takes some lube and with one hand, coats both our cocks in lube stroking them together. "Mmmm… yeah… that's good."

"Lift up," he says. I kneel up so can raise my ass enough to allow his lube coated fingers access to my hole. He pokes a finger at the entrance and I sink down on it. Still holding his neck, I make a good show of fucking his large finger. "Mmmm…you got another for me, sugar?" I say.

"Of course." He offers me two and I start fucking those as he strokes his dick a few times with his free hand and finally, he lets out a moan filled pleasure, like he's been saving it up.

He pushes his cock down under mine so it presses up against my taint, so fucking close to my ass it's cruel. I'm still fucking his fingers, but boy do I want that fucking huge-ass cock in me. "C'mon baby, give me your cock. I promise to make it feel so good."

"Yeah. That's it sweet thang. Tell me how much you want my cock. Beg for it. You want it in your ass?"

"Sweet baby Jesus do I. It's so big and thick. Fuck. Please, baby," I beg as I continue to fuck his fingers and feel his thick hardness underneath me. As I ride his fingers I make sure to rub up and down on it and I know I'm getting the stimulation I want from him, because he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

I want to hear him release that cry. I speed up my thrusts and he breathes heavier, so do I, we're both beginning to lose it. "You'll slide it in, baby and feel how tight I am. You can feel me. Don't you want that around your cock? Don't you want to pound into me 'till I can't sit tomorrow?"

His lip falls from his teeth and he's got that 'I'm fucking consumed by sex' look in this eyes. He's sex drunk. "Oh, yeah. I'd like that."

He dumps too much lube on my cock and begins stroking as I'm still fucking his fingers, and if he keeps doing that, I'm not going to last much longer. I hold onto him tight, looking into his blue eyes as I begin to get lost in sex too. We're both breathless, and making all kinds of animalistic sounds; it's fucking hot in here and we're both sweating.

I throw my head back, forgetting that I'm not even on his cock, but just two of his large fingers, I can't talk anymore; my mind's too fucked to think up anymore sexy porn talk. I just want to cum now, pent up from all that fucking foreplay. "Oh, Dean…I'm gonna…"

Feeling the first pulses of cum squirt out of that beautiful cock sets me off and I'm cumming like a fountain as he continues to stroke me and I continue to fuck his fingers. We're both loud and we sigh fucking relief when we're done blowing our loads.

That has to be the hottest 'not-sex' I've ever fucking had and now all I can think about is that giant cock pounding into me. I rest my forehead on his. "I'm so fucking in love with you, Dean," he says clearly heart broken. Our strange, hot 'not-sex' deepening whatever feelings he might have already had. Sex tends to do that. Usually for women I find, but occasionally with men. I've never heard the guy say fuck. He must be particularly hurting. I feel responsible. Turns out I'm even good at 'not-sex.'

"Can I just…Just one kiss Dean. Please. I…"

I don't know what possesses me, but with him looking at me like that, my pulse still racing after that amazing orgasm, I want to. I want to fucking kiss his pretty lips and see what it's like. I nod very small. He's quick, probably before I can change my mind, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me down to him.

When our lips touch, something happens. An explosion. I let my lips part to allow his tongue in; my tongue tangles with his and the kiss quickly becomes wild. I suddenly can't get enough of him and what was meant to be just a small quick thing stretches on and on both of us trying to suck more of the other's breath away.

When we finally pull away from each other. I stare at him, stunned. He shakes his head. "Why do you have to be so perfect? That kiss was…Jesus."

I'm just as shocked as he looks. I didn't expect a kiss to be like that. I've never felt anything from kissing anyone, except Michael. But I like kissing him a fuck load more than I ever thought I would.

Suddenly, the life of Dean Winchester just got a fuck load more complicated.

The sun is finally setting; it's getting darker. There's just a scant bit of sun reflecting off those blue, blue eyes. Whatever compelled me to kiss him must still be at work. "My name's not Jesus, sugar, it's Dean Winchester." I lean in and kiss him some more.


	7. The Complicated Life of Dean Winchester (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one more part to: 'The Complicated Life of Dean Winchester' after this one, then I have to start coming up with chapter names again. Rats.
> 
> Loving hearing all the theories on Brad and think it's cool that people are split (meaning they kinda like Dean and Brad).

It's only nine-thirty, but Brad insists it's only proper he drop me off half an hour _before_ curfew to show my father that he respects his policies. Meanwhile, I try to insist he'd rather have my mouth wrapped around his cock. "Next time, gorgeous."

I'm disappointed, but I don't argue with 'next time.' I'm starting to learn Brad means what he says. He has to carry my food bag to the door for me. We're standing there on the fucking porch and I can't believe it, but I don't want him to go, I don't want to say goodbye just yet. When the night ends, so do we. "Why don't you come in? I bet my parents are up. We can play Yahtzee or something equally family fun."

"Aw, sweet thang. That wouldn't be right for a first date. You go'on. I'll text you later."

I should tell him no, but I fucking don't. "Thanks for tonight, it was perfect Dean," he says with another chaste kiss. Yes on my fucking lips. What's the difference now?

"Thank-you. I had fun." Yeah. That's all I, Dean Winchester, am able to bring myself to say. I'm fucking flabbergast and I make fun of people for saying things like flabbergast.

"Sweet dreams, sugar."

Shit. I think I'm fucking dating the Captain of the football team.

I walk inside and hope to Christ my parents are having sex. Just in case they're waiting up for me (more likely), I tiptoe past the living room toward the stairs. "Dean?" Papa says.

Fuck. "Yeah, Papa?"

"Come here, please."

It's the last thing I want to do right now, but after earlier with Daddy, there's no way I'm arguing. I slink into the living room where they're snuggled together; both of them simultaneously drop their mouths.

Do I have 'I kissed him' stamped on my forehead?"

"His letter jacket Dean?" Daddy says.

Aw fuck. He put it back on me after our 'not-sex' and I forgot to fucking give it back to him when he dropped me off and of course he didn't bother to collect it. This looks bad. This looks fucking bad. "It's not how it looks, I swear." I rip the thing off and throw it on the ground.

"Whoa sweetheart, we're not judging, it's just a big, big step." Right. Both my parents grew up in Texas where football and letter jackets mean everything in high school. They are kinda a big deal here too, but not quite the same.

"So, you had a good time?" Papa asks carefully.

I shrug in teenage. "Was okay."

And fuck. I know that look. Neither of them even knows what to fucking say. My parents who have always been prepared for just about fucking everything don't know what to say. "Look, um, I'm just going to go to bed. Garden tomorrow, right Daddy?"

"Dean, wait," Daddy says. But I've already started running for the stairs. I hear, "let me go to him, Sam" from behind me.

I make it to my room with Papa close behind. I slam face first onto my bed and bury my head in the pillow, crying. I left the door open for him, so he just walks in, I hear him put something on the chair and he sits down on the bed beside me, rubbing my back while I cry. He sighs heavily. It really affects Papa when I cry.

Papa was right all along. I do like Brad. A lot. I don't fucking want to. My feelings for Michael haven't changed, but having any amount of feelings for someone else is fucking with me.

"It's going to be okay, Dean."

"It's not Papa. Things are never going to be the same. I practically cheated on Michael, I did cheat on Michael, this isn't something spanking can fix…unless, can it?" I roll on my back so I can look at him.

He shakes his head. "Not spanking, no. But talking. You and Michael will work things out."

"It's going to be over, God I'm so stupid. It was just supposed to be a date." I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands.

"You're young Dean. Michael knows that."

We hear a knock on the door. "Do you want a Daddy hug, Dean Bean?"

I'll never be too fucking old for those. I sit up and hold my arms open to him. Daddy immediately comes to cuddle me on the bed, I snuggle into him; he runs a hand through my hair. Papa surrounds us both. No one says anything.

I don't know how much time passes, but finally I move and wipe the tear tracks away. "Tell us about the date, Dean Bean," Daddy says.

"I watched his game; he scored me a touch down."

"He did?" Daddy says.

"Yeah. Turns out there's a reason they made him Captain."

Both my parents laugh. "That kid is big. He looks like he's thirty," Papa says.

I laugh because he is fucking big, in more ways than one. "He really liked your sandwich, Daddy."

"I'm surprised you actually shared."

"Well you're about to fall over then. I gave him half of my fourth sandwich."

Neither of them can speak.

Finally Daddy says, "you like him, huh Dean Bean?"

I nod. "I think so."

"Did they win?" Papa asks.

"Yep. Then we went to this new place in town; the Soda Fountain. It's a kind of teenage fifties style hang out. We ate burgers."

"That sounds pretty perfect to me, sweetheart."

"But what about Michael?" I say.

"Don't worry about Michael for tonight," Papa says. "Tonight, you're just a regular teenage boy on your first date ever. A date who gave you his football jacket," he adds pointing to the chair where he left it.

I know exactly what Papa means by that. Of course, even my second time around, I get snagged up by an angel, before I even turn two. They were hoping I'd get more of a dose of 'regular' before I got sucked back in. "Okay, Papa."

They both kiss my head. "You look tired, sweetheart. Why don't you turn in? You and I have a long day ahead of us, I have lots I want to get done."

Oh yeah that. "Yes, Daddy."

They leave me and I get ready for bed. Once I'm back in my room, I see I've got two text messages: One from Brad and the other from Michael. Fuck my life.

Michael says: _What time can I pick you up tomorrow so I can fuck away douche bag?"_

Brad says: _Forgot to ask you if you'd be at Miller's tomorrow, baby?"_

To Michael I say: _Can't. Helping Daddy in the garden._

To Brad it's: _Yeah. I'll be there._

Michael's response: _What did you do to piss Sam off?"_

Brad says: _Pick you up?"_

To Michael: _The usual. I was a lippy, asshole._

To Brad: _I'm going with Hannah. I'll see you there._

My phone's quiet for a few minutes. Michael responds first: _It's clearly been too long since I've spanked you._

_LOL. Goodnight Michael_ , I say back. 

_You think I'm joking. Go to bed, Duckling. I'll stop by tomorrow to check progress_. That makes me laugh some more. I bet he will. 

Just when I think Brad isn't going to respond, he finally says: _Guess I'll have to settle for seeing you there. Sleep tight, Darlin'."_

~DM~

Daddy and I started the garden together when I was little. He wanted me to 'connect with my food.' He also thinks it's a good life skill in general. I actually do enjoy it and more than that, I love spending time with him, but being a teenager takes up a lot of time. Between hockey and shooting and Michael and school and pretending to have a social life (thought lately it's been a real one) I've slacked off in my gardening duties.

"Do you want to talk about anything, sweetheart?" Daddy says.

"Talk? Forget talking. Can you just tell me what I should do?" I'm completely serious. Aren't parents supposed to tell you what to do?

"'Fraid not, Cowboy," he says adjusting my hat. I've got on the cowboy hat Uncle Dal gave me for my sixteenth birthday, a pair of jeans, and a white tank. I left out the boots though, those I'll pull out when we get to Texas. I'll stay true to my now Californian heritage and am wearing flip-flops.

"I bet Papa will tell me what to do. I'll ask him," I say cheekily.

"Ask him a question like that and you're bound to end up over his knee for a 'thinking' kind of spanking."

He's probably right. "Well I really don't know what to do, Daddy. It's driving me crazy. You know? I didn't want to go to Texas, but now I can't wait to get outta here. Can I leave tomorrow?"

"You can't run away from your problems sweet boy."

"I can't do anything I wanna do."

He chuckles. "I may not be able to tell you what to do, but you can use me as a sounding board."

"I was thinking about asking Michael if he minded me going on another date with Brad, but I'm afraid Michael will use what's left of his grace to torture him slowly before he kills him. I've got this strange curiosity Daddy. I mean there's no doubt who I'd pick if I had to chose, but it's just…" It's hard to explain.

"You like having someone all to yourself. Brad can give you what Michael can't, not to mention, he's the first person you've liked for more than an hour besides Michael?"

"Yeah. How did you?"

"'Cause I know my little boy."

"Good. So tell me what to do," I wheedle.

"Well now you've given me something to go on, I can give you my opinion, but the decision is up to you. Just when you make it, consider all parties involved and not just Dean Winchester, please."

I blush. Right. I haven't been so good at that these days. "Of course Daddy."

"If you are having these feelings and doubts Dean Bean, you have to talk to Michael. If you were willing to leave things with Brad at one date, I'd say you should just forget about the kiss and move on; I doubt it's likely to happen again. But you can't date Brad without telling Michael."

Yeah. I know he's right.

"There's Brad to think about too. I'm assuming he knows about Michael and your open style relationship?"

"He knows."

"And he's okay with it?"

Okay with it's kind of strong. "I think he'd rather have me to himself, but I made it clear what I've got going on with Michael and he seemed to still want a date."

"So long as he's clear; you don't want to lead the poor boy on."

"I won't Daddy. I'll talk to him again. Make sure he knows."

The mood lightens after that; we work hard in the garden harvesting green beans and doing other odds and ends in the garden. There's actually a lot to do to get it ready before we go away for a month. Someone will come water and tend to it, but Daddy and I are picky with how we want things left.

Some time, way after lunch, Michael stops by. I can't believe how excited I am to see him. I actually run to him like I used to when I was little. "Michael!"

He stops me with a hand to each bicep, before I run into him with my shovel. I think maybe there's tiny part of me that thinks once I tell him about last night, he's going walk out of my life forever. I want to cling to him. He does his cursory look over of me. "Wow. Cowboy. Hot." He pulls me to him for a kiss, which isn't as steamy as I'd like it to be, but I guess Daddy is right behind us. I'm lucky he's kissing me at all. "I don't like those shoes, though. You know how much I despise flip-flops."

I do. I forgot. He seems to think I always need to be prepared in case I might have to run from something (yes something) and flip-flops are not suitable running attire. "Right. Sorry. I'll go change them." I move to leave; he stops me.

"Sorry, I'll go change them? No, you're overacting Michael? Or, the next time my backyard hosts the zombie apocalypse I'll make sure I'm properly attired, Michael?"

"Well no, it's something you're concerned about. I'm respecting that."

"That's…new. But I thank-you, it actually does ease the constant tension in my body, since the day I met you, quite a bit. I think I'll be able to keep you safe enough for now though. You can change them later. I can't stay. I just came to say a quick hello. Is your father here? He wanted to speak with me."

"About?"

"I imagine he'll tell me when he sees me," he says cockily.

"Ha. Ha. He's in the house, probably in his office."

We walk over to where Daddy is. "Hi Michael," he says.

"Hello, sir. I hear this one's giving you trouble," he says by way of teasing me and putting my head in a noose made from his arm.

"I wrangled that cowboy in," Daddy says.

"Well if you need my help, I'm glad to be of assistance." He takes my hat; I snatch it back.

"I thought you needed to go talk to Papa?"

"On my way. Those shoes better be changed by the time I come back," he sneers. "Ah. There we are. A nose wrinkle. I knew you couldn't have done a complete turn around after one spanking."

My cheeks heat a little, because Daddy's standing right there. Yeah he knows and no I don't really care, but I'm just not used to him being quite so open. Our family's like that though and there's no avoiding it really. I've even heard Grampa threaten he was going to spank Gramma. She never blinked an eye. Might as well get used to it.

He leaves and I change my shoes. He spends a long time with Papa. At least an hour. "What do you think they're talking about now, Daddy?"

"What they always talk about."

"Me? But I haven't done anything…well that he knows about yet. Wait, Papa wouldn't—"

"That's your business to tell Michael. Papa would never."

"Right. I know. I'm just not used to them talking so often."

"You know, before you get all worked up, how about trying some patience? It might be something good."

"I'm seventeen, Daddy. We don't operate like that. It's freak out first; rationalize later. Maybe. Unless we're onto another thing to freak out about."

He laughs at me.

By the time Michael returns, I'm not as _concerned_ , but I still want to fucking know. "Ah. Those shoes are much better. I feel confident that should a zombie apocalypse chance upon your backyard, you'll be able to run like a gazelle."

I shake my head. "Can you stop trying to be funny? You aren't funny. A simple 'thank-you Dean,' would have sufficed."

"Now you know how I feel when you make sarcastic jokes at everything I say. Speaking of, I believe I have a question to ask you about soothers, Mr. Winchester."

"How is that a 'speaking of?' Soothers have nothing to do with sarcastic jokes."

"I beg to differ. Mr. Winchester, how long did Dean have those dreadful sucking devices for?"

Whatever. If Daddy weren't here, I'd comment on how much he's benefited from all the 'sucking' practice I've had.

"I think he gets the Colt family record at seven."

My cheeks heat. "Seven? _Daddy!_ I wasn't seven."

"Well not all the time when you were seven, no. But occasionally you'd come into our bed after a nightmare and you'd ask for one. I kept one in our drawer for you."

Fuck. I think I do remember something about that; that's fucking humiliating. Michael is trying not to laugh his face off, but it's clear he's laughing on the inside with the way his eyes are bugging out of his head. "I can't believe you _and_ Papa would let me have a soother at seven."

He gives me his 'oh really' look. "As if you don't know how much you're spoiled Dean Winchester?"

"Spoiled people don't have ten o'clock curfews."

"You don't have a ten o'clock curfew. It's actually midnight."

In other words, 'your curfew's the way it is because you got yourself into trouble and I don't feel sorry for you.'

"And besides, you didn't have it all the time since four. Just at bedtime and nightmares."

Michael's still smiling devilishly, while I'm embarrassed to hell. "Thank-you Mr. Winchester. This conversation has been more than I could have hoped for."

"You're welcome, Michael," Daddy says knowing full well what he was up to the whole time; nobody can resist a game of tease the Dean. Especially not those two.

"As fun as it would be to continue this conversation, I need to go. Would it be all right if Dean walked me to my vehicle, Mr. Winchester?"

"Of course it is Michael. You don't have to be so formal with me, you know that." They actually have a pretty good relationship; it's because Daddy knows how to work with Michael and Michael feels at ease.

I walk him to the front and when we get around the corner and out of Daddy's eyesight, and thankfully, instead of talking anymore about soothers, Michael slams me up against the house and shoves his tongue down my throat then pulls away panting. "Jesus Christ Dean, you look hot as a fucking cowboy. I have a horse you can ride, you know."

"Thick? About ten inches long? Yeah I've ridden it before."

He smiles. "Too bad I have to go. I won't see you 'till tomorrow."

"No Babylon tonight?"

"No. How about you?"

"Just a party at Miller's…" I trail off when I see the way he's looking at me. The lack of tension in his body has allowed me to see when it comes back. Fuck. I guess I've kept him pretty strung up for years. No wonder he's resorted to cleaning shit. It's better than destroying shit and I've seen him do that too. "Shit. I probably should have ran that by you?"

"I think so," he says with a clenched jaw.

He's having a hard time. It's not worth it. "I don't even care about the party. Just a bunch of stupid teenagers. I don't have to go."

He rests his forehead on mine; he's clearly in pain. "You are a teenager Dean. You should go, have 'teenage' experiences; it's just…I really won't be anywhere in the vicinity if you need me. I won't even be able to have someone check in on you; make sure you're okay."

"Okay then I won't go. It's that simple."

"No. Go."

It really is fucking opposite land these days. Normally I'd be telling him to fuck off, and I'm going whether he wants me to or not and he'd be forbidding me from ever leaving my house again. "Are you sure?"

He's frozen. I've got a fucking frozen angel before me. He doesn't want to say yes, or no.

I have an idea. "How about this? Daddy does something with Father when Father has a hard time with something Daddy's going to do. They make some rules for Daddy to follow, Father feels like he has control over the situation, even if it's kinda placebo, and it makes him feel better. There should be a consequence too."

I can tell Michael is on board with that idea right away. His whole body relaxes minutely.

"I want the address. You'll text me when you arrive and every hour you're there. You'll text me when you return home. I might not be able to text you back, but you're still to text me."

"Done. Easy."

"No drinking."

Okay that's a little harder. Not that I drink a lot when I drive anyway, but it's super socially unacceptable not to have at least one. "Not even one beer?" I try.

"No." All the tension is back and he has to close his eyes and take a breath. Has he always been like this?

"Okay. No drinking, or you'll spank my ass."

"I believe I make the consequences. A spanking might be worth a beer."

Fuck he has my fucking number. I scratch the back of my head. "What then?"

"You'll be grounded 'till Texas."

Holy shit. My stomach swoops. I didn't expect that. "Fuck Michael. You sure you don't have time to fuck me?"

"That turns you on?"

"You have no idea."

"How is that possible? You hate being grounded."

"Oh I do. But you saying it like that, all big, bad and domineering—fuck."

He laughs and pulls me in for a kiss. "I have to go, but you'll behave yourself."

"Yes, sir," I say. I want him to know I'm committed. That makes him smile and his body relaxes, somewhat. He really does like that, but he's still worried.

"Come to my loft Sunday after church and you can tell me all about what teenagers do at this 'Miller's' place."

"It's a person's house."

"Potato, Potahto. I'll see you Sunday."

I guess that's when I'll be talking to him about Brad. When he leaves, I realize I didn't even get the chance to ask him about what he and Papa talked about. And no, I'm not asking Papa. Not unless I want to get scolded about minding my own business.

I rush back to help Daddy. We get a lot done before we sit down to dinner. I've pre-showered and dressed for tonight—besides it's not like Daddy would let me at his table caked with dirt. "Thanks for your help today, Dean Bean. You don't have to worry about baking pies tomorrow, but I will accept your help baking for the church bake sale."

"If you're sure Daddy."

When dinner's finished, I ask Papa, "may I please be excused, sir?" Planning on leaving pretty much right away. Of course you don't show up to a party at six-thirty, but I was planning on hanging with Hannah. We normally don't show at parties 'till eight, so really it'll just be a drop by. Like I said this party's really no big deal.

"How's studying for finals going?" Father asks.

Uh-oh. I don't like the direction of this conversation. "Really good. I know my stuff backwards and forwards, sir." Daddy's real quiet. Something happened.

"Couldn't hurt to have a few more study nights before exams," he says casually. Fuck. Tonight. He means tonight. I know it. But you remember how I keep saying I don't really want to go to this party? It's no big deal? Well suddenly it's just become a big deal. I don't know how to explain to you the interworking's of a teenage mind, but as soon as one or more of your parents says you can't do something, you suddenly want to do it on principle. Because tonight really isn't a big deal, well, except maybe that Brad's going to be there. Second thought, it's probably better I don't see him.

I should just take the brownie points it would win me if I come up with the idea to study tonight myself, but I can't even help myself. "Yes, sir. I'll hit the books hard tomorrow after church."

"Tonight, Dean. You've had plenty of nights out recently. I'd rather see your time better spent, especially before exams."

Come to think of it—he looks kind of pissed. Either way, arguing is not advised at this point. Okay. This party's just not in the cards. Michael will be happy. "Yes, sir."

Once 'Father has spoken,' he excuses himself and I'm left with an apologetic looking Daddy. "Did you have plans tonight, Dean?"

"Yeah, but it's no big deal."

"No. This is my fault. I was really upset with you last night, I was worried and well I sort of told him about your plan to ask him about Texas."

I laugh. "You ratted me out?"

"Yeah." He looks really upset, I can't even be mad at him—especially because I was the huge douche last night.

"I guess I'm not asking him," I joke. "I'm lucky that's all I got."

"You're lucky you were upset last night. It softened him some."

"No kidding."

"Why don't you go on up and start studying? I'll get you out of this."

"Really Daddy. It's not a big deal. Don't put your butt on the line for me."

"But if I don't, how you gonna show up in Brad's letter jacket and give him a big ol' kiss? I know you want to."

I can't help smiling when Daddy uses his accent like that. "I do not."

"Oh yes, you do."

"Well maybe just a little."

"That's enough for me. Go. I'll have you out in an hour."

I don't know what kind of magic stunt Daddy pulled, but he does break me out. "He says to remind you to be home by ten."

As if I could forget. "I will. Thanks Daddy."

By this time, there isn't much time for hanging out at Hannah's, but we do catch up for half an hour. When she sees the red and white letter jacket slung over the backseat of my car, she freaks. "Dude! You completely left out that he gave you his freaking letter jacket."

"Jesus Christ, Han. Not you too. He didn't _give_ it to me. It was a loan and I'm giving it back tonight."

"Nu-uh, Winchester. Nobody 'loans' those things out." She has to pick it up and look at it and fucking smell it.

"Did you just smell his letter jacket?"

"Yeah and am I sorry I did. It reeks of fucking cologne."

I laugh my ass off at her—yet another reason I love Hannah.

I make sure to text Michael the address when we arrive and send him the emoticon of the two dudes holding hands. Why? 'Cause it always makes me laugh for some reason and it's like it's him watching over me.

There are quite a few kids here already and of course I get offered a beer, which I decline. I see Brad on a couch with a few of the guys from his team. He looks weird without his jacket. "Missing something?" I say placing his jacket over him from behind.

"Yeah. You. Get over here, sweet thang," he says standing and picking his jacket up. He pulls me in for a hug and grabs me by the neck to kiss me on the lips, which is apparently a thing now. "Dean, you know the guys." I know them from school and I recognize a few from last night. They say hi.

"Who's this Dean?"

"This is the beautiful Hannah," I say pulling away from Brad so I can tug her by the hand into the circle of beefy football men. A couple of them fawn over her, but one in particular; she might have a letter jacket of her own by the end of the night.

"So how long do I have you for?" Brad says grabbing my hand.

"About ninety minutes."

"I don't mean to say anything against your parents, but that's a really early curfew, Dean."

"My regular curfew's midnight. I pissed my father off."

"Any idea when that might end?"

"Hopefully by the end of the month if I play my cards right."

"Come for a walk with me?"

I hope 'come for a walk' means make-out. You never can tell with Brad. I nod; he takes my hand and we make our way to the front lawn.

"This was for you to wear Dean. Will you please put it on, for me?"

That was almost an order. How can I resist? I put it on. "You just don't want anyone else taking up my time tonight, Sugar."

"Not trying to be subtle about it, Winchester. A letter jacket is a pretty clear marking. I already gotta compete with that older guy. Is he a college guy?"

"Not exactly."

"Well here you're mine. I want everyone to know it, so they'll stop looking at you."

He seems kinda irritated about it and his possessive ways are turning me on, so I just wink at him to ease the tension. "Well I'm only looking at you, so how about we go make out in my car for eighty-seven minutes?"

"I mean it Dean. When you come out with me, you wear this? Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it." He's fucking lucky I like him; he must notice the irritated look on my face.

"Okay, sorry about that, Darlin'. You're just so, gorgeous, I swear everyone wanted a piece of you in there."

I don't tell him they probably did. I usually come to these parties to hook up only. "You want me to suck your cock?" I whisper in his ear to distract him.

"Lord do I."

"C'mon."

I lead him to one of the available bedrooms and don't waste time on pleasantries. I rip his jeans open and pull his white boxer briefs down just enough to pull out his huge dick, which I gotta say, kinda makes his nuts look smaller—unless that's all the steroids. I know those things legit shrink your nuts.

I swirl my tongue all the way down his cock and get my mouth full of saliva, so I can coat the shaft in it. "Fuck you're good at that."

I almost say I've had lots of practice, but somehow, I don't think he'll want to hear that, so I keep that one to myself.

I enjoy having him moan above me, he has to throw his head back against the wall and it doesn't take long to have him shooting his load against the back of my throat. Fuck I'm awesome. "You like that, baby?"

"Did I? C'mere. It's your turn."

He's not so bad himself. Only thing weird about this picture is the lack of fucking. I mean, yeah, it's still sex, but god do I want that huge dick inside of me.

We leave the bedroom all cum-drunk and he excuses himself to grab a beer. Of course he asks me if I want one, but I give him the excuse that I'm driving, which he accepts. It's a little weird being at this party and actually being _at_ this party. Normally I'd just be scoping out the merchandise, but right now I'm trying to figure out if I should talk to someone or something. Since it's almost been an hour, I decide to shoot Michael a text: _Teenage parties are fucking lame. Babylon next Saturday? P.S. Yes, I'm still alive._

That's when Anthony from the beach decides to come talk to me.

Oh right. We were supposed to hook up tonight. I look around and don't see Brad, good. I don't want Anthony to think I'm unavailable. I'm not really sure what's going on with the 'Brad thing,' (though why do all my relationships seem to be as fucking complicated as they can get?) And just in case this Brad thing isn't a thing, I want to leave Anthony as an option.

"Heya, Dean," he says. "What's all this? Do you have a boyfriend I gotta worry about now?" He's referring to the fucking letter jacket.

"Naw. Just dating someone. It's not serious." Yeah, even saying that feels wrong. Oh god I feel _guilty_. Shit. That's where I start having trouble properly putting moves on this guy, which is good, because Brad comes back.

Brad grabs my hand. "Hey Marcelli," he says to Anthony.

"Davis." Anthony's smirking his face off at me; looking at our clasped hands and fucking judging. "See you around Winchester."

I'm fucking Winchester now? This is bullshit. Maybe I'm not ready to commit to one dude. I'm suddenly very grateful for open relationships. "What the hell Brad?"

"I told you Dean. I can't imagine you'd dump that college guy just yet, but if we're going to see each other, I'm not going to watch you with everyone else too. I really care about you. I thought…I thought maybe you might care about me too?"

Fuck. I fucking do and I wish I didn't because that complicates the hell out of my fucking complicated life. "I do. I just; this is new. Like brand spanking new. I didn't know we were a thing. I don't know if I can _be_ a thing with you."

"I gave you my letter jacket last night Dean."

And I fucking accepted it. Okay, so everyone thinks that's a huge deal except me. I seriously can't deal with this shit right now. I've got to talk to Michael first. "Look, I'll…I'll behave myself," I wink at him.

He smiles and kisses my lips. "What am I gonna do with you, Sugar?"

I laugh. He's got no idea what he's getting himself into. I'm about to swoop in for another kiss, 'cause fuck, I do like kissing him; it's sort of thrilling, but something across the room catches my attention. I shake my head. No. I didn't see what I thought I did. Sometimes my old life plays tricks with my mind. Modlenol is a bit fucked up. It seriously makes you forget. We only really learned just how much as I grew up. But every now and again a memory from my old life will creep in. The memories seem like dreams, or like it's something that happened to someone else. But sometimes I think I see things. Most of the time it's nothing, like I'm sure now is. For instance, I swear I just fucking saw that dude across the room shade his eyes in blackness, for a quick second, like a demon would.

Naw. Demons haven't knocked on my doorstep in a long time. Crowley fucking promised.

I watch him, without watching him. If he is a fucking demon, I can't let him know I'm onto him and if he's not, well, I don't really give a shit what he thinks I'm doing. One habit that's died real hard, or not at all really, is my fetish for salting things. I did it a lot when I was little, with no clear reason why. I mean, I told my parents it was to keep the 'bad guys' away, but I'd forgotten who the bad guys were 'till later in my new life. I keep some in Baby, but there's gotta be some in the kitchen of this place right?

"Something wrong?" Brad says.

I check the dude again, from the corner of my eye and yep, just regular Eddie. Okay, I was fucking seeing things. It's just Eddie. I know that kid. I'm fucking crazy. "Nope. Everything's good." And it is. Brad and I spend time walking around and chatting with different groups. I didn't realize just how popular Brad is. I regale them with my hilarity and wit.

"We didn't realize you were so funny, Dean."

That's because I've never been that interested in striking up a conversation with them. I'm not really now, but they're all right guys. "So you play hockey? You never wanted to try out for the football team?" The one with red hair asks.

"No offense, but never. I've been in hockey since I was a little thing and fucking loved it."

"Well you should at least come hit the weights with us in your off season. You could use a little meat on you," another one, Mark, says.

Asshole. It's not like I don't fucking try. I do work out, but I guess I have been slacking a little lately. I usually wait for dry-land training camps that start in August. Then I hit it hard. Daddy has to make me a lot of fucking food during training and hockey season. "Anytime."

I tell them a bit more about how awesome I am at hockey, Brad excuses himself to get another beer and I use that opportunity to find a washroom. I'm not stupid and find a washroom in the back of the house, where no one else will go 'cause they're too polite. There were a bunch of signs that said not to come down this way, but I've gotta leave soon and there's no way I'm waiting in the fucking washroom line-up. I'm pissing and thinking about how fucking snazzy this place is. Like, really snazzy. Of course no one's house is like our house. We are stupidly rich. Ha! I could just imagine what would happen to me if I decided to throw a party at 'Winchester Manor.' I'd definitely be grounded for life and I doubt Papa would wait for the kids to leave before he tanned my hide. 'Cause my parents would find out. I may be able to slip the odd thing past them, but I doubt I'd get away with a party.

I look out of the window, I'll bet there's a pretty awesome property out back, and my fucking blood freezes.

Yellow dust on the windowsill.

I put my dick away and walk over to check it out. I smell it. Fuck. It's Sulfur.

So it's like this. Some shit, a very little bit, I remember (though I've forgotten more than I remember) and some shit I was 're-taught' by Uncles Jared, Jensen and Bobby. This is one of those moments where I'm gonna have to say it's a long fucking story for another time, but let's just say shit happened and it became imperative I know a few things, but not everything. My daddies agreed I needed to know something. It's also why my parents took their twelve-year-old to a tattoo parlor, since necklaces can fall off. They got demon possession preventing tattoos too. It was pretty fucking rad.

I know I've got to fucking text Michael right away. I pull out my phone, my heart races, there are twenty fucking texts from him that I'd somehow missed. Shit.

The first one is: _Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you._

The last one says: _Run_.

Fuck. I hear a scream followed by many screams.

I run downstairs to absolute mayhem. Immediately I start scanning the room for Hannah and Brad. I look for 'Eddie' too, now that I know I'm not imagining things. But I see the reason for all the commotion. My uncles are here and have the 'kid' surrounded. Way to be fucking subtle you two. The thought crosses my mind that I would have handled this differently, but truth is I don't really know how I would have handled it.

But however they're deciding to handle it, they look like they've got the situation under fucking control and I know it's not a good time to bother them. I need to find my friends. Everyone's running the fuck outside, but I don't know why, it's one fucking demon. My uncles can do this shit with their eyes closed; guess they don't know that though.

Soon as I step outside, Michael's jeep skids to a halt on the grass in front of me. "Get in."

"Wait. I need to find Hannah and Brad." I don't even trouble him with Baby. He's not going to like me stopping his 'rescue mission' to find my friends as is. And holy fuck, there are angels flying in everywhere, not the Michael kind with barely any grace, but the 'full-grace' kind, like Tom with wings and shit.

Michael's so not into my hesitation right now. He's fast. Like angel fucking fast, which is draining on his minimal grace and why I should really be cooperating, so he doesn't have to use it. Michael maintains a very small amount of his own grace, which supposedly can't be 'used up.' But as he earned his father's trust, he was gifted a very tiny little bit more grace from 'other angels.' You can work out how you feel about Michael accepting the grace of other angels on your own. I'm fucking okay with it. More than likely Lucifer was ending that angel and they'd no longer require their grace anyway. In any case it uses up his 'extra' grace faster to perform acts of the super human.

Next I know I'm in the jeep and in addition to being to his max with worry over me, he's fucking pissed. "Later we are going to have a chat about you fucking obeying me when I say to get the fuck in the jeep Dean."

"Spank me all you want later, but we've got to fucking find them."

"Oh I will."

He starts driving, but has to go slower now, since the hoard of kids had filled in the driveway, but if they don't move, I think he'll run them over. He doesn't like too many angels to see me. "Do you have a hood or something?"

Yeah. Under the letter jacket. I pull it up over my head. I can tell all he wants to do is drive me as far the fuck away from here as possible, but he's not, he's looking for my friends.

"What about Jen and Jared?" I don't like the idea of them being left alone with this angel hoard. A lone demon is one thing, but all these fucking angel dicks? Suddenly, I see a big stream of black smoke, rise up out of the house. The demon's gone, the angels dicks are still inside.

"They will be fine." He doesn't explain, but I believe him. Much as he hates Uncle Jen, I don't and for that reason he'd never let anything happen to either of them.

Thank fucking god Brad is a beast. He's easy to spot and he's got Hannah with him. They were looking for me. "Get in guys."

They both hop in the back and Michael doesn't waste anymore time here. Before I can ask Michael tells me, "Tom will bring your car home."

I don't ask about Brad's truck.

When we're far enough away from the chaos, Brad asks, "what was all that?"

"Nothing your puny brain need comprehend," Michael snaps.

"Michael," I say, but he doesn't give a shit about my scolding right now in his 'demons and too many fucking angels were near Dean' induced rage. He's in fucking charge and I obey him.

"Call your parents Dean. You're going to be a bit late," he barks at me.

Fuck, fine. He can explain that to his best fucking friend, my father why I'm going to miss curfew. I call Daddy and as soon as I say, 'something happened, I'll explain later, but I'm with Michael;' Daddy's freaking losing it.

"You need to talk to him," I say shoving the phone at him with Daddy still talking into it, as I begin directing him to Hannah's house. She hasn't said a word. Brad's shut up after Michael basically took his head off, _and_ mine.

"He's with me Mr. Winchester; can't explain now. I'll have him home as soon as I can." Michael has always been respectful of house rules, such as having me home by curfew. If Daddy hears Michael's commanding voice tell him that, it may not calm him down completely, but it will let him know it's not just me trying to get out of said curfew. And if Michael says I'm all right, he'll know I am.

I was actually having a good time tonight. It fucking sucks that all this angel-demon bullshit had such inconvenient timing.

Michael won't even let me get out to walk Hannah to the door; we stay to watch her go inside. "Where do we dispose of him?"

I let Brad give him directions and realize I'm sitting right in between my not-boyfriend and guy I'm kinda, sorta dating, as they are both probably figuring out a way to end the other. When we arrive at Brad's house, Brad doesn't look mad, but he doesn't look pleased either. I can't really decipher what he's thinking. "Wait," Michael says before he can walk to his door. "The fucking jacket, Dean. _Now_."

Michael is not to be fucked with right now. Sort of embarrassed, I take it off and hold it out for Brad. I don't know what to say, but I feel like I should say something. "Uh, I'll see you at school."


	8. The Complicated Life of Dean Winchester (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time!!! (How long you been sitting on that one, Mock?)
> 
> And Michael pays tribute to a theory Majestic Duck had on Brad and swamp monsters ;-)

I don't know where the fuck Michael's going and I don't care. "What the fuck happened Michael?"

"Nothing that concerns you. This was a case of the wrong place at the wrong time, for you."

"I don't think so Michael. That's fucking bullshit. You think after all that I'm just going to go home to my daddies and forget this ever happened?"

"Yes, because that's exactly what you're going to do."

"What? Or you'll spank me? Fuck—" I catch myself before I say Fuck Off. The fuck off thing is different; a line I'm not willing to cross even pissed as I am. He eyes me saying to be glad I did.

"It has nothing to do with spanking, Dean. I'm fucking freaking out over here. Can't you just do one fucking thing that I say, without arguing? I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"I do the things you say. I didn't drink a thing all night."

"I'm glad for it, but this is a hell of a lot more important than not having a beer, Dean." He's breathing hard and I think it would be a good idea to just shut up. At least for now. He really is 'fucking freaking' out.

The Impala is home before us and Uncle Jensen and Jared's car is in the driveway as well. They must have seen me if they're stopping by. I'm sure both my parents are also freaking the fuck out.

As soon as I'm in the door, Daddy's there grabbing me, hugging me to him then checking every inch of me over with his hands, then hugging me to him again. He won't let go.

"Uncle Jensen and Jared told us what happened. You okay, Pumpkin?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Daddy."

"We saw the Impala and we freaked when we couldn't find you, but then we saw it was gone; we figured you were here," Uncle Jared says. "It's kinda strange your car got here before you did."

I really hope they didn't see that Tom was driving. Thankfully everyone's less concerned with my car and more concerned with me. "I'd really like to know what happened," I say.

Now I've got all five of'em looking at me, then each other, then me again.

"If we don't tell him, he'll just go looking and you really can't go looking stud. You're not ready for something like this. If we tell you, you have to promise to stay out of it." That's Uncle Jen.

I'm not stupid. I know I was a hunter before, sure, but I'm way out of practice and I barely remember anything. It's why I wanted to do the vampire thing with them. Not to mention, I intend to keep my promise this time. Especially since I know it would break Daddy's heart. Do they think I'm that much of an asshole? Not to mention _both_ Papa and Michael will kill me. "I'll stay out of it. I promise."

Michael looks more pissed, if that's possible, but he agrees with Uncle Jensen and gives him a small nod. "It turns out, old man Miller is a collector of really ancient shit," Uncle Jensen says.

When Daddy doesn't even scold him for swearing, I know the level of torment he's in. I hug him tighter.

"Crowley believed Miller had something he wanted. He sent his best man in to retrieve it."

"But what about the excess of holy presence?" I ask.

"My father wants it too," Michael says.

"Is that what you were doing tonight?"

Michael nods. "We were on our way to a location that turned out to be false, when we realized our error and I found out the actual location was where you were, I...God Dean, I…" He's frozen again.

"You got rid of the Demon?" I look to Uncle Jen.

"Yep. Jared exorcised his ass back to hell, but no sign of the object."

Yeah. I know they're not telling me what said object is on purpose and yes I want to know, but I decide to leave it. Everybody's too fucking stirred.

"Okay, so this isn't even about me. We can all stop being crazy."

I get five different versions of 'are you kidding me,' at the same time. I'm surprised Uncle Dal hasn't caught wind of this and is here.

"Okay, okay. Jesus."

"Go'on up to your room Dean, while we discuss it." That's Papa. If it had been anyone else, I would have argued the shit outta that. I'm basically the little kid being sent away while the adults talk. But you don't argue with Papa. It's just not done. Besides, it's also a respect thing. I do trust that if Papa's making a decision, it's for a good reason. It always is.

Doesn't mean I have to like it though and it's pretty clear I don't like it, but that can't be helped.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank-you, Dean."

I get ready for bed. It's not that late, but this night has fucking exhausted me.

It takes ages, but I get a knock eventually; it's Papa. "C'mere, Kiddo. I'm sorry I had to do that to you, but they all needed to calm down and that wasn't going to happen with you there."

See? Reasons. I get off the bed and hug him. "I didn't mean to scare everyone, Papa."

He squeezes me and laughs. "I know. It's just your nature. It came with the Dean package. We understand that well enough by now."

"So what's the verdict? Am I under house arrest 'till I'm forty?"

"If your daddy had his way—he's pretty upset. You have a nerve-wracked angel to soothe, but I have been amply assured this was a case of bad timing. As much as I would like to put you in a bubble too, I think all parents want to do that with their kids, we can't do that. I think I've got everyone talked out of that plan; not sure about Michael though."

"Other parents don't have to worry about their kids attracting demons. I understand why you're worried. I don't exactly make it easy."

He laughs. "Well in any case, this event did not evolve around you, for once. It did hit too close to home. We still don't want you involved in hunting, which I am firm on young man. As I warned you after last time, your butt will not want to experience my fury if I even catch wind of you planning to go on another hunt; however, it has come time for you to learn more. You're going to need weapons, just in case, and you're going to need to know how to use them, again."

Let's not tell Papa about the back trunk in Baby where I've already got a new saw-off filled with salt rounds—special gift from Uncle Bobby. I hope to Christ my parents never find out about her secret compartment.

"But that's it, Dean. I mean it. Am I completely understood?"

"Indisputably, Papa."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. And by the way, your daddy's to teach you."

Did you see that one coming? Let's just say, both parents realized pretty early on they needed to know about hunting if they were going to raise the one Dean Winchester. So yeah, they're both all learned up on all kinds of Supernatural stuffs. They're not like Uncle Jared and Jensen, since they don't actually hunt, but they've learned what they can. "What? Aw man. He'll tie pillows around my body and make me practice on dolls. It's spider hunting all over again."

He laughs; he knows I'm fucking right. "Your uncles will pitch in too of course, but you know they can't be around much. Besides, a certain angel is probably not going to let you out of his sight for a while. Oh that's one more thing. You need to make an overnight bag, you're going to stay at his place."

"I am?" I'm fucking shocked as hell.

"Don't get used to it. It's just for tonight. It was part of the…negotiations."

Would I have loved to be a sparkle on the wall for that fucking talk.

"Thank you for being respectful and obeying my request to come upstairs. That factored into my decision on you learning weapons. I know that wasn't easy for you, I'm pleased to see a real act of maturity from you tonight, son."

Of all the people down there, my father's opinions are still the final ones. I can envision everyone giving their opinions and father saying what will and won't happen.

"There are many people who love you fiercely Dean. I'm glad to see it, and to be one of them. And if I haven't said it often enough I'm proud of the man you're growing into, even if I still have to kick your ass from time to time."

"Thank you, Father."

"Excuse me?"

I laugh. "Thank-you Papa."

"And while we're on that note, I'd like to encourage you to keep up whatever line of thinking you were under tonight. It will save us a good hour in the lecture you have coming before you leave for Texas."

Lecture? Aw fuck. Am I ever glad I didn't actually _ask_ to skip out of Texas. "I will, sir."

"Okay, get your stuff together."

"What about Daddy? I feel bad leaving him tonight."

"I'll take care of Daddy; he'll be just fine. Promise. Michael will drop you at church tomorrow."

~DM~

Michael is silent the whole ride to his loft and I sit beside him in my pajama pants and puma hoodie trying to decipher him. He's not nearly as calm as Papa was, but he's not got as much practice in trying to be calm, especially when demons decide to frequent a place I've been. I'm sure the angel thing factors in there too.

He looks terrible. I think I do need to talk to Daddy more about calming the often tense angel. I'm realizing what a poor job I've been doing. He really can't protect me if I'm constantly being uncooperative. Not that I think I need protection, but that's not the point; he does. And hell, even I know I can't protect myself against an army of angels and, or demons. Truth is, he knows he can't either, not ultimately. It's why he's freaking out.

"So what did you do to get my father to allow me to stay at your place?"

He doesn't answer a while, but his lips smile softly then, "it wasn't my idea."

"It wasn't?"

"I think it was my silence that prompted it. It was really fucking loud for a while; your daddy and his brother really know how to go at it; a Colt style argument, and your father just let them. He seemed to know when to intervene and when not to."

By 'his brother,' I know he means Uncle Jensen. Uncle Jared is a helluva lot more reasonable. My daddy is too, but not when demons get close to his baby boy. He kinda loses it.

"And even though they fought a long time, they did end up working things out and both deferred to your father at one point for a final decision; shocked the fuck outta me when he asked for my opinion—I guess I really am a Winchester now."

I laugh. "You were silent the whole time?"

"Yeah and when he asked me for my opinion I had nothing to say, but he did. Said he'd know exactly how I would feel if it were Sam and suggested the fucking sleepover. 'Negotiations' began again and before I knew it, here we are."

"Fucked up. I wish I could have seen. It's fucking hilarious to see two Colts go at it. You always think there's going to be a body at the end of it, but when they're done, it's like they're better friends."

"That's exactly what happened. Your uncles are even staying the night."

When we get to the loft, it's not our usual. He normally has his hands all over me, but right now he won't touch me. A strange need for distance, with the closeness of having me in his sights, yeah I get it. But I kinda want to fucking touch him. I'm used to it; the touching. My parents are affectionate and he always had been too. I've become a fucking affection whore. I've just got to calm him the fuck down and he'll be back to not being able to keep his hands off me. He's real fucking tense though,

"I'm okay, Michael. See? Not a scratch."

"This isn't the first time, it won't be the last…I just hate that I can't…"

He can't keep me safe.

"I failed you, Dean."

"No. You didn't. You were there." There's no real way to ensure anyone's safety.

"I need to clean something." He storms over to his cleaning cabinet and pulls out a bucket, cloths and some Pine Sol. Michael has a thing for Pine Sol. He starts filling the bucket with water and the Pine Sol then sloshes the full bucket down on the floor throwing a cloth at me. Fuck. This is going to be a long night.

For the first round we work side by side on hands and knees. I pull off my hoodie, which means I'm shirtless, he removes his black blazer and rolls up the sleeves of his white button up; we both take our socks off.

The second time, we start at opposite ends of the apartment from each other; my knees start to ache. They ache more when we finish and I wait hopefully as he scans the room; are we finished? Nope. Time for round three.

Because the problem is, his eyes think they're looking for dirt, Michael is a clean freak (as we all know), and to some extent his eyes are looking for dirt, but this is different, what's really happening are his insides searching for a feeling; they're looking for what control feels like, but they're never going to get it.

He can clean. He can make things cleaner. He can never have control over this situation.

"Again," he says.

We wash the goddamned floor for hours. Six times in fact, before I realize he's never going to stop if I don’t intervene somehow. I decide to try something I've seen Daddy do. "You got anything to eat, Michael? I'm starved."

"Shit. I forgot to feed you," he says like I'm a plant he forgot to water. I'm not offended. Michael's just like that (it's the angel in him) and I would laugh if he weren't, well, still in his angel brand OCD trance.

"I have no food. I will order you a pizza."

"Sweet, pizza." Daddy never orders pizza. He does make a kick-ass pizza though.

While he puts in the call, I put away all the cleaning equipment away—out of sight, out of mind. I also grab two beers out of the fridge (the guy doesn't keep a lot of food around, but he's always got beer) and sit at the bar style counter-top.

When he's ordered the pizza, he approaches me cautiously pushing the hair out of my eyes with just his two fingers and taking a sip of beer as he studies me. "Tell me about letter jacket guy."

"Do we have to do this now, Michael?"

"The demon-angel swaray isn't the only reason we just washed my floor six times, Dean."

I guess we should talk about it; it's far outside our norm. I still don't know where to fucking start. He does.

"You were wearing his fucking letter jacket Dean." His hand tightens around his beer and I'm glad he used up some of his extra grace tonight, so he'll be less likely to use more of his 'super-strength' than necessary, or it would be a broken beer bottle. I can see he wants to go ballistic; but he's retraining. The cleaning probably helped some, but I don't know how far that goes in cooling his temper.

But in true Dean style, I just come out with it. Rip the Band-Aid off, right? "I…I kissed him."

I spoke too soon. He does have enough extra grace to spare, the beer bottle breaks; it cuts his hand, beer mixed with blood leaks onto our six times cleaned floor. "Fuck," he says and heads over to the sink to wash off his hand. I move to help him.

"Any glass in it?"

"No. Just fucking sit over there on the couch. If I get blood on you, I'll be washing you six times," he snaps.

"All right. Jeez."

By the time Michael's done cleaning that mess (which he thankfully only does once, but he does take his fucking time) the pizza's here and fuck I don't even feel like eating it. Michael joins me on the couch.

I take it as a good sign when he pulls me to him; I was thinking he was going to drive me back to my house and tell me he never wants to see me again. "I'm sorry, Michael. Say something, please." The silence is fucking killing me.

"There's nothing to say."

"Tell me you never want to see me again, or that you forbid me from seeing him again, or in the least tell me I'm cheating scum."

"Cheating scum? Don't be ridiculous. I don't think that way, I'm an angel. It's not the way we feel betrayal. It's more about possession. I don't care who you play with, so long as you know you are to return to me."

More and more I'm beginning to doubt him not caring who I 'play' with. "You broke your beer bottle when I told you I kissed him."

"It doesn't mean I like it. I didn't see the point in that ridiculous no kissing on the lips rule of yours at first, but then I was beginning to favor it."

"Forbid me from seeing him then."

He tightens his grip on me. "As much as I want to, I've come to realize I can't do that, not when I know I can't give you what you want. I don't think you even know yourself what you want Dean, but I can see it sometimes—you want someone who calls you one and only. Do you want to marry this boy Dean?"

"Marry him? I'm seventeen for Christ's sake. Marriage is a long ways off."

"But you do want marriage someday." That's not a question.

"I can't help but want what my parents have Michael, but if you and I can't get married, we can't get married. I don't care, I just want to be with you."

"Even if it's always as is?"

I can't answer that. I want to say yes, but I'm still holding out hope he'll change his mind someday.

He's running a hand through my hair. We're quiet a long time. "I'm not going to see Brad again," I tell him.

I can feel him smile above me. "God no, don't do that. You had his letter jacket on for Christ's sake. You must be utterly gaga over the kid. Huge cock?"

"It's as monstrous as he is and he refuses to fuck me with it."

"We always want what we can't have."

"This isn't what we do though, Michael. We don't date, even you said that; I would hate it if you started dating someone. Salt and burn."

He laughs. "Never fear, my little Duck. I won't be 'dating' anyone. I don't date humans."

What does he call us I wonder? I don't ask though. "You have no problem at all with me going on another date with Brad?"

"I wouldn't say I have 'no problem,' I have lots of problems with it, but you like him even if I have no idea why. He smells like he's trying to hide the fact he's a swamp monster with all that god forsaken cologne. If you date him, I'm sure you'll get him out of your system. You're still young, I'm sure we'll have to go through a few more of these inconveniences before you realize you're not meant for them."

Is that Michael's way of saying I'm just for him? "You're really okay with this? I thought since you freaked about the jacket…"

"No markings Dean. You're _not_ his. He can play with you all he likes, but that's it. Besides, you having a 'boyfriend' comes at an opportune time. I'm not sure how many angels saw you tonight."

"Angels always see me."

"Not those ones."

"And he's not my boyfriend. Like you said, we'll go on a few dates, I'll probably get sick of him."

"He is too. Dean and Brad, sitting in tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

I turn around and push him. "Stop it. Ass."

He laughs. "I'm not sure where this is going to place me with ol' Papa Winchester. Will I be uninvited to Sunday dinners?"

"Why would you be? Brad and I aren't serious."

"Still, it's quite a bit different than what we had."

"I'm liking what you and I have been building, and we have lots of time to do it. Besides, I think he'll let it pass. They want me to have 'teenage experiences,' and there's no way I'm breaking it off with you for Brad. I know it's bothered them for years that I've never 'dated' anyone. I've just never liked anyone enough to. You know?"

"But you like this juice head?"

"He's not just any juice head. He's Captain of the football team."

"I suppose that's an acceptable excuse for so many steroids?"

"I guess."

"Well whether Papa Winchester exiles me from Sunday dinner, or not, I know our current arrangement works much better for me. I've barely cleaned at all. Tonight was the first in days."

I nod into him feeling shitty. All this time I've caused Michael a lot of fucking anxiety, and that's not likely to change much. "It works for me too."

"Good, because I have another rule for you."

Should have seen that one coming. "Yes, Michael?"

"When neither Tom or I are around to look after you, you stay home."

That's not very often. I can do that. I nod. "Won't be a problem." I won't remind him that demons can still 'get me' in my home.

"That means you need to remember to run your plans by me."

In other words; unlike tonight.

"I can do that."

"Thank-you, Dean."

I squeeze him around his waist. "So are we going to fuck now? I feel like my balls are turning blue."

"Right," he says rolling his eyes and standing me up. "I suppose I'll be expected to provide you with extra sex. May I remind you that you're only doing this to yourself by dating a possessive, controlling virgin?"

"I like possessive and controlling, but the virgin thing has got to go."

"I bet this guy holds onto that ring awhile longer."

"You've got no faith in the Dean Winchester charm? I'll take his V-card before I get to Texas."

"Okay. Let's make this bet official. If I win, I get to turn that lovely ass of yours red, everyday for a week using whatever implements I want."

"And what if I win?"

"What do you want?" he says, clearly not worried about me winning.

That's a loaded question. There are many things I want from Michael, but I know if I ask for those things they'll be met with a flat 'no.' "No more angels driving Baby home. Ever."

"Deal," he says too easily, dragging me toward the bedroom. He sits me on the bed and pushes me back; he removes my pajama pants one pant leg at a time. When I'm just in my boxers, he takes his own shirt off; he undoes his pants and pulls out his dick, stroking it a few times. "Seal it with a kiss, baby?"

"Please." I eagerly swallow his cock, then his cum, and then he fucks me into the mattress.

It's late by the time we actually lay down to sleep. "I'm going to sleep with you tonight. I could use a little."

Michael doesn't sleep often, but he sometimes needs to. I'm more than happy for him to curl around me naked. I hook one of my legs backward around his calve and he takes his leg on top and hooks it around my other calve. Michael and I are like two interlocking pieces—like fucking Lego.

"Night, Michael."

"Goodnight, Dean."

~DM~

In the morning, Michael's up and ready before I am. He's strangely business like, but he does offer me a smile; it's not the kind of smile I like on him. It's his, 'I'm about to give you a sound spanking and do you know why?' smile.

"What did I do?"

"Think hard as you hand me that belt over there. I'm sure it will come to you."

His belt? Okay, I know I fucking said I wanted him to spank me with that, but it also tells me the severity of my actions with him and I already feel that huge pit of disappointment in myself; I'm wishing I didn't do something to attract this level of his displeasure. But he's right, it does come to me in a flash, the something that could piss him off so severely with me. "I'm sorry, Michael. I should have got in the jeep when you said."

I don't expect the flare of anger as he grabs the belt from me. "I expect more from you. You of all people know angels and demons are no small matter. I'm _very_ disappointed Dean."

That guts me. Fuck. He's more upset about that than he is about the whole Brad thing.

"Maybe it's because you still don't trust me, even after everything," he says sadley.

I want to argue that, because I do trust him, but now is not the time to speak. He's talking; I'm to listen closely.

"Maybe it's just your teenage arrogance, thinking you know better than me. I don't care which, or if it's something else entirely. When you see angels and demons, or _anything_ super-fucking-natural and I give you an order Dean, you obey it. Not when you feel like it; that very fucking minute. Am I completely fucking clear?"

I jump a little bit. I think this is the first time I feel a scared shiver run through me at Michael's words. Not that I think he'd ever hurt me (other than a sound spanking), Michael would rather cut off all of all his limbs with a dull knife than harm me, but right now, he's not Michael my lover, friend, partner—whatever the fuck he usually is—he's Michael the angel, the _arch_ angel. He's going to be obeyed one way or another. It's a good reminder to me of who he really is. Michael plays a pretty good, slightly awkward human most of the time. Fact: He thinks he has become slightly human due to the length of time he's spent with so little grace and maybe he has. But as much as he might resemble and act as such, he isn't human.

"Y-yes, sir."

He takes several calming breaths and when he sheds his burst of anger he says, "remember what I promised would happen if you went on another hunt, behind my back?"

I can barely look at him, but I manage. "Yes."

"You're going to receive half that for this." He pulls a chair from his small kitchen table.

He doesn't have to tell me what to do. I'm Dean Winchester, I've earned enough spankings in my life to know. I'm not wearing underwear beneath my pajama pants, so I just slip them off. I place myself over the back of the chair, resting both hands on the seat.

Michael doesn't add any more pomp and circumstance, I know why I’m here being punished. And it's a funny thing I tell you; both not wanting and _needing_ to be punished. There's always this sort of nervous feeling in my gut mixed with the weight of having disappointed the 'spanker.' That weight is different depending on the who. If it's one of my dads, or Michael, or jeez, the couple of times Grampa's spanked me—that was a whole other experience altogether. Point is, there's always this nerve-wracking anticipation, coupled with a sort of craving to please. As the spanking proceeds, I feel a warm safety and comfort (aside from the warmth I feel in my backside of course). An ass can actually take a lot. Sometimes, many times, I've been spanked and not nearly reached my pain threshold, but I’m crying because I've reached another one on an emotional level. It gets into your body, your nervous system, whether your backside burns or not.

But I am going to feel this spanking. Michael's going to make sure of it. That way my ass can remember this lesson for more than just a few hours. Oh God, and all through fucking church on those fucking hard benches.

He uses his hand to warm both cheeks amply then he begins laying down firm, accurate strokes with his strap. Today there are tears early. I can feel _his_ pain, which might sound kind of fucked up to you since I'm the one being spanked. My cheeks do clench before each stroke as my ass gets increasingly tender and even in that there's release.

"How are you doing, Duckling?"

"I'm okay, Michael."

He nods, committed to give me what he's intended. He doesn't request I count and I don’t, that means I'm supposed to be thinking about how I'm never to disobey him on this point a-fucking-gain and how it affects him; us.

When he's done, I'm crying silent diaphragm wracking cries and he's rubbing my back. I wipe my eyes. "M-Michael, I'm s-s-sorry. I, I was an idiot."

"Well your actions were idiotic. You are not an idiot, which is why I expect more. Come here."

I practically jump into this arms. He holds me around my waist, swaying us as he rubs my sore backside. Then he grabs my chin to tilt my lips up to his and leans in for a sweet kiss, because it's not the raw, animalistic way we usually kiss—like two bolts of lightening crashing together—it's like two petals touching. Yeah. Fuck you. I said two petals touching.

"Thank-you Dean. You took that well."

I feel proud and smile.

He collapses his forehead onto mine. "Please obey me. I need to know…Can you please stop being a shithead?"

That makes me laugh. "I'm trying—it's just my nature."

"You're a fucking pain in my ass."

"Pain in your ass? I'm not going to be able to fucking sit through church and Papa's going to be giving me his 'sit still Dean Winchester or else' eyes. Speaking of, maybe you can call up your bro and let him know about this, so he'll cut me some slack."

"My bro?"

"Yeah, because the two of you have a fucking bromance going on."

"That's enough," he fake scolds me; his eyes are smiling. "All right. We need to feed you."

"There's nothing like cold pizza in the morning," I say breaking away and making my way over to the pizza box, still on the coffee table from last night, my red ass and wang hanging out for all to see.

Michael beats me to it. "You're not eating that—it sat out all night."

"It's fine. I have the stomach of a goat. Give it."

"You could get Salmonella Dean."

"You can only get Salmonella from poultry. There's all pig on that baby."

"That's not true. This is made in an establishment which handles poultry. I know all about cross-contamination."

I decide pointing out the actual food-borne illnesses you can get from what's on that pizza are not helpful to my cause and there's no way I'm going to convince him. "All right. What am I supposed to eat then? Beer? As much as I'd like that, my stomach will start eating itself during the sermon."

"We'll get you something on the way. Get dressed."

I notice he puts on the belt he's just used to spank my ass with. "Souvenir?"

"Reminder," he says with a cocky glint in his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was shorter than usual, but it was still over 5K. So much happened that I thought it would be better to digest in a medium sized bite. Also, A TON is going to happen next chapter. I'll try to not make you wait too long for it, K?
> 
> P.S. For anyone concerned that Michael did not apply aloe or something of the like to Dean after that powerful spanking, not to worry. Michael always takes care of his duck. The 'aftercare' happened off screen. But that was just such a great place to end the chapter. Dean'll likely mention something about it in the next chapter. We good?


	9. Sam's Second Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a hard one, so be easy on me.

I feel the sting of Michael's belt all the way to fucking church. Yeah he rubbed aloe into it, but all that does is help the skin heal. It still fucking hurts like a son of a bitch. Okay. I fucking get it. Demons and strange angels—hell any angels—show their stupid faces and I do whatever the fuck Michael says. Roger that. Besides that _look_ of pain that was in his eyes, I can't take that.

"And as we wind down on the road…the shadows taller than our soul…there walks a lady we all know…who shines white light and wants to show…how everything still turns to gold…and if you listen very hard…the tune with come to you at last…when one is all and all is one…to be a rock and not to rooolllll…"

"Must you?"

"Stairway. This is fucking _Stairway,_ do you even have to ask?"

"How about shut up then? I'm trying to get you to church."

"Is that going as well as your quest to get me food? 'Cause please note, Dean does not eat falafels. This thing is cardboard wrapped in cardboard."

"I can't feed you take-out burgers before I drop you off to Sam."

"Afraid he'll make you sit on the naughty step?"

" _No_. It just wouldn't be proper when I know he doesn't like it."

"You bought me burgers the other day and pizza last night, I promise you, he would not have liked either of those—you know it."

"Yeah, but you're going _right_ to meet up with him. It's different."

I don't see his logic. "Well, Daddy doesn't like falafels either. They're surprisingly unhealthy, unlike everyone believes, unless you make them yourself. And these ones are definitely fried in canola oil which is one of the the top four genetically modified crops in the world."

"Fuck! That thing's GMO? Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I tried."

"Throw it away or your daddy's going to kill me."

"So I get no food before church?"

"Phone Sam. He'll bring you food."

"They've left already, Michael." Shit. I've said the wrong thing again because now he just feels like a fucking failure after he already felt like a failure over the whole demons thing.

He's quiet and gripping the steering wheel so tight I think he might rip it off.

"Take me to Farmer's Freshest, over on sixteenth, Daddy likes that place."

"It's a bit out of route."

"It's either that, or I'm eating this cardboard piece of crap—I'm literally starved."

"You're worse than a pig."

"Not denying, but if you don't get me something soon, I'll eat my hand."

"All right. How the fuck do I get to this place?"

He has to turn the Jeep around, but we go and we get some breakfast sandwiches made with farm fresh eggs and fresh bread along with some fresh squeezed OJ. "You sure you don't want any? These are fucking delicious."

"I'm good."

"Okay, but remember, I asked. I'm learning how to share."

"Weren't you supposed to learn that at three?"

"Only child."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Just get me to church. Please?" I add when he glares at me.

When we pull up, he parks and takes the jeep out of gear, turning the engine off. I guess I'm getting an escort into church this morning. I can tell he doesn't want to let me go. He sits there staring at me, not saying anything, but I know I'm not 'dismissed' so to speak. I decide to say something. "Why don't you stay?"

"Can't. Have a meeting with Father, shortly."

"So? Stay for a little then use your angel stealth to slip out."

"Doesn't your boyfriend come to this church? I think it's better I don't see him so soon after last night."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Well either way, I'll skip the praising of the Lord for this morning if you don't mind."

Right. The whole his father is the Lord and all the abandonment issues that go with that thing. "Suit yourself."

"It's too soon for you to be away from me after last night, Dean." I can't believe he just fucking admitted that. I mean, it's written all over his fucking face, but I never thought he'd say it. I think I know what I have to do.

"I'll text you when I get home okay? The chances of Daddy letting me go anywhere today are at about zero and Father will side with him and guise me sticking around the house as a 'suggestion' that I should study anyway, since I got out of it last night. So that's where I'll be 'till dinner, okay?"

He nods. Then his hand is on the back of my head pulling me to him for a kiss. When we pull away he says, "how's your backside?"

"Like the depths of hell."

He arches his brow.

I laugh. "I can feel it Michael, but I'll live."

"Okay, we should get you inside." He hops out his side and is quick to get to mine. I'm already out with nothing to grab since he kept my overnight stuff at his house saying he'd bring it over later. He offers his hand and I take it.

We don't get far; I spot my parents making out by their vehicle, looks like they drove this morning. I roll my eyes. "Looks like you two really missed me," I complain. "Demons crashed my teenage gathering, or have we forgot?" Part of me is happy Daddy's okay, though.

"I was just giving your daddy a little kiss," Papa says.

I bet if I did with Michael, what he was just doing with Daddy and _in front of the church_ I'd hear about it. Fucking hypocrites. "Aw, don't pout baby, boy. C'mere, of course I haven't forgotten and missed you all fudging night." There's the attention I wanted. I run to his waiting arms. It doesn't seem to matter how much I grow, Daddy's always bigger than me.

"Did you have a good sleepover?" he asks releasing me. Michael grabs my hand again and pulls me a respectable distance closer.

"Yep. And Michael fed me good food," I make sure to tell him to win Michael some points with him, there by earning me points with Michael.

Daddy smiles. "Thanks Michael."

"Yes, well on that note, you may want to have Dean checked for tape worms, plural. He eats a ridiculous amount of food."

"I do not have tape worms."

"You might."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Okay, you two. Enough. We'll see you later Michael?" Papa says and Michael stares at him like he's never met him before. I told him he wouldn't be exiled, but Michael didn't believe me. My parents are on this strange 'you-need-to-be-a-teenager-who-does-teenage-things' trip and they don't seem to care what hypocrisies they have to endure to make the teenage experience happen for me.

"Um. Yes, sir. I'll be there." He looks nervous though, for just a second then it's gone. I don't think he's nervous about my father, just surprised. He's nervous about something else. "I should go though. Goodbye Mr. and Mr. Winchester." Michael surprises the fuck outta me when he pulls me to him and kisses me something like how we saw Papa and Daddy kissing a second ago. Does he want my father to kill him?

"Be good my little Duck." Michael puts his hands into his pockets and saunters off without looking at my parents, leaving me with Daddy who's smiling his face off, on the inside; and Papa who doesn't look pleased.

Papa leaves it at that though, grabs me by the back of the neck and frog marches me into the church.

~DM~

I know Brad is here and I was aware of just where he was sitting the whole time. I had to try not to look. Thankfully the pain in my ass kept me amply focused on something. But I totally called it. I was squirming on the bench, like every five minutes and it was a particularly long service. I got a lot of dirty looks from Father and Daddy.

"Sweet Lord, Dean. What was with you in there?" Daddy says.

"Uh, sorry. My ass hurts. Michael's fault." Daddy whacks me upside the head. "Ow."

"Clean that mouth up, Sur, before I do."

Why do I feel the need to remind him of demons? "Yes, sir."

Of course that's when Brad decides to approach us. We're still seated, everyone's pouring out of the pews. I so don't want to deal with all the Brad shit right now. I mean, the dude is owed an explanation of some kind and he and I need to talk, but not first thing in the fucking morning. Besides, I'm tired. We were up fucking late last night, then up early this morning; I'm even considering a nap once we get home.

But he's here now and I've got to deal with him, so I put on my game face. "Hey Dean," he says. "Hello Mr. and Mr. Winchester."

"Hi Bradley. Is your mama here? I'd like to talk with her a second about the bake sale."

"She's right over there Mr. Winchester."

"Thank-you Bradley. Dean, we'll meet you in the car in thirty minutes."

"Yes, Daddy."

Papa doesn't look like he was planning to go with him, he likes to stay out of bake sale planning, since Papa doesn't bake, but Daddy's dragging him away anyway. "C'mon, Cassy."

"Come for a walk with me, outside?" Brad says.

"Yeah."

He grabs my hand like we're something. I'm trying to get a read off him; I mean, I gave him his fucking jacket back last night, got into my 'college boyfriend's' Jeep and drove off.

When we're outside, I start in right away. "Look, Brad. I'm sorry about last night."

He looks confused. "You say that like it was your fault Miller's house got ransacked."

"I didn't mean that; I meant with Michael."

His face gets a hard look to it, not so different from the way Michael's face gets when Brad's name is mentioned. "That's not your fault either. I won't say anything against him, Dean, you already know how I feel about him, but believe me I don't blame you."

"About that. My life is…complicated. I—"

"Oh no you don't. You're not giving me the 'my life is complicated, I need time to figure it out' break up speech, Dean."

"But it's all true."

"That may be, but I really like what we've started; I don't want it to end. I know I have something to offer you, please, let me show you, baby."

Yeah he's got something to offer me; his huge penis.

"I don't think it's a good idea. I can't even say either of your names around the other without you two wanting to go all alpha male and piss on me. I like you Brad, I don't feel like picking pieces of you off the pavement."

"Me? I'm four times the size of that guy. Give me a little credit," he says with his really cute smile that lights up his eyes. He's flirting. I can't fucking help flirting back.

"You are pretty strong," I say and oh good, now I'm smiling coquettishly at him. Yeah, fucking coquettish. What the fuck is wrong with me around this guy?

"C'mere." He pulls me to him by my hand and yeah, I know I _just_ fucking left Michael not long ago. He kisses me chastely more like you should kiss someone in front of a church. "I've been wanting to do that since last night, Sugar."

"You didn't text me." I don't know why that's important.

"I figured things were hectic for you by the way Romeo charged in like that; I knew I'd see you today."

I nod. "Brad, I'm not going to stop seeing him, I don't think that's what you want. I think you want me all to yourself, buried under you letterman jacket."

"That's precisely accurate, sweets, but I know what I'm up against, I think I stand a pretty good chance at scoring a touchdown. I mean, you do like me, don't you Dean?"

Now I'm blushing hotter than my ass. I look up at him, eyes hooded. "Yeah." A lot apparently. So much I turn into a fucking school girl around him.

He smiles. "See? If you didn't like me, I'd go away; leave you alone forever, but I think if you give us a chance…well I'll leave it at that. I think you should give us a chance."

"I've gotta tell you, if Michael asked me to stop seeing you, I would in a heartbeat. He's my priority."

"Of course he is, now. I could have told you that, but I think I can change your priorities."

"I don't think you can."

"Look Dean, no relationship is set in stone, not ours and not the one you have with what's his nuts."

Like he doesn't know Michael's name. "Thought you said you and I were 'meant' for each other, huh?"

"Of course I think we are, but I'm not naïve, anything could happen. I'd at least like the opportunity to take the kick."

Okay he's really gotta stop with the football analogies, they're not even good ones; but fuck if I don't find it fucking sweet. "I just want to make sure I'm upfront. I don't want to be the asshole who led you on."

"Consider me informed."

"We'll see if you're still saying that when I drop you like a hot potato for him. He comes first Brad. Are you really okay with that?"

"I'm not 'okay' with it, but I accept it. For now. I know I'm going to change your mind. I'm going to make you fall in love with me."

"I can't wear your letterman jacket," I say by way of testing him. It was a good test. His face is the epitome of displeasure.

"Not even to say, my games?"

He really is going for the touchdown, his games are a ways away. "He was pretty clear."

"And he gets to make all the rules."

"Yep."

"Okay, okay. But, you know, maybe we can revisit that at some point?"

"I'll tell you what you can 'visit,' is _you_ asking him. I'm not touching it. He was pissed about it, so if you want to duke it out with him, be my guest."

He smiles triumphantly. "I just might."

It's his funeral. "Good, luck with that."

"Okay, now that's settled, I want to take you out again."

"A second date? I've never been on a second date. Is that the one where we have sex?"

"No, Dean. I already told you, our wedding night."

Man he's a tough nut to crack. I'm going to have a fucking sore ass for a week, aren't I? Since he seems irritated, I change the subject. "So did you find anything out about last night? What happened?"

He pulls me closer, so he can wrap his arms around me. "I thought _Michael_ would tell you since he seems to know so much. What's with that guy anyway? He part of some mafia, I don't know about?"

"Naw. He was just fucking with you. He doesn't know shit."

"Then how'd he know to pick you up?"

Fuck. How did he know? "He was just stopping by. Didn't I mention he'd be stopping by?"

He kisses me again. "Mmm, I can't resist that lip when you bite it like that. Don't do that to me outside the church Sugar."

Fuck, am I biting my lip? I hope he doesn't know that apparently means I'm lying. I've been told in my other life, I was good at lying. Thought I was good at it in this one too, but not to the ones that know me. If he buys what I'm selling or not, I don't know, but he doesn't ask anymore about Michael. I think he'd prefer to never talk about Michael.

"Did you hear anymore about last night?" I wonder out loud. I shouldn't be fucking asking that question; I didn't mean to ask it, it just came the fuck out.

Brad is uber popular; the center of the high school universe; he knows everyone. He's got to have heard something. "One of the cheerleaders, Rachel, is dating Derek Miller. I texted her last night after what happened, make sure everyone was okay. No one seems to know what happened with Eddie—he's in the hospital. Everyone was too focused on leaving to find out what the guys in the suits were doing."

I got more information from my uncles last night than he's giving me now. I should've known teenagers would be more interested in getting their own asses out of there than to figure out what's going on. I'll bet they didn't even fucking notice that the dudes and dudettes in suits didn't exactly walk there. I'd be better off talking to Mr. Miller.

"The police are handling it Sugar. No need to worry," he says rubbing my cheek.

For the record I'm not worried; I'm pensive, but this might be kind of fun hanging out with a dude that doesn't know me for once. My family, and Michael, know me too well, I can't get away with much.

"I'm sure they'll take care of it," I agree.

"About that date. I was thinking Monday at lunch."

"At school?"

"Yeah."

"I think that's just your ploy to get me to spend lunch hour with you and no one else."

"Maybe," he pouts. "Did it work?"

"I'll eat lunch with you, but you can take me on a proper second date—don't think you're getting out of that one easily." I want more hot not-sex and chances to score.

"Yes, sir."

"Why don't you come by my house Wednesday after school; help Daddy and I with bake sale stuffs, he'll like that. Then we can go eat something." I'd better leave at least a few days buffer between the events of last night and the next time I leave the house.

"Sounds good Sugar, so long as you know I don't bake."

"Not to worry, we'll have plenty of other jobs for you." I should go, my parents are probably waiting for me by now, but he pulls me tighter to him and I want to stay just a minute longer.

"It's not how I want to court you Dean, with some college guy looming in the distance, but if this is the way it's got to be then this is the way it's got to be. I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

I stay another minute; we 'church appropriate' kiss; I leave fucking floating.

~DM~

When we get home, I'm a little disappointed to see Uncle Jensen and Uncle Jared's car gone. Daddy can tell. "They wanted to stay to see you baby boy, but they had to go. They promised they were going to try to make Texas this year."

"I know. It's okay." I understand in a weird way. There's still an intrinsic thing I 'get' about hunting, even if it's not all there anymore.

"You look tired, Dean," Papa says.

"That's because Michael made us wash his floor six fu—fudging times." Daddy gives me a disapproving look, he knows what I almost said. I leave out the part about us having sex.

"Well even God rested on the seventh day, which is what I expect you to do today Dean. We could all probably use a little nap," he looks meaningfully to Daddy. "Then I want you to hit the books, son."

Didn't I tell you that was coming? They know me, but I know them too. "Was already planning on it; both counts. If it weren't for my tender bottom, I'd have fallen asleep right there in the pew."

Papa smiles at me. "Okay. Go'on then."

I head upstairs to change and I've never been so grateful as I am in this very moment for pajama pants; I shed the tight 'church pants' quickly and get comfy. It'll be nice to have a day at home after all that excitement. I remember to text Michael I'm home, then soon as I hit my head to the my pillow, Dean's…out.

~DM~

After a two hour nap, I check on my son. He's still out cold. I want to go in and sit in his desk chair and watch over him like I did when he was little and sick, or…or just because sometimes _I_ needed to. But he's seventeen and I shouldn't. Dean will let me; he indulges when I baby him, because he knows how much I like taking care of him, but he's growing into a man; he doesn't need his daddy watching over him all the time like that. I close the door and head downstairs; my phone vibrates in my pocket.

It's Michael.

"Hello?" I say.

There's a short groan, then a slurred Sam. Michael rarely calls me Sam. He has from time to time, but it always means something. Right now, I think it simply means he can't even say 'Winchester.'

"Michael? What's going on?"

"C-come…pleassse…my loft."

"I'll be right there." Cas, who had lain down with me (and yes we actually slept) must've got up before me. I check the kitchen first, he's there with coffee and the newspaper. "Baby? What's wrong?'

"Michael, he's…he needs help, asked me to come." I can tell right away Cas doesn't like the idea. "Cas, you know he wouldn't have called if it meant trouble for me. And he wouldn't have called me unless it was something he knew was up my alley—I'm suspecting he had another run in with his father's angel blade." I've often taken care of Michael over the years, but this is the first time I've gotten a call quite like this.

He sighs heavily.

"You know how much he's done for our son—"

"Spare me the guilt trip; you can go, Baby. But phone me soon as you get there."

"Thanks, Cas."

"What should I tell Dean?"

"Nothing."

~DM~

When I get there, Tom (who I've met before; he drops off Dean's Impala often enough) let's me in. "He says go straight into his bedroom, sir."

'Bedroom' is a pretty loose term if you ask me. It looks like there's an altar just off from the kitchen, enclosed by walls with what looks like a sliding door. Tom slides it open for me and I go inside; I'm met with a terrible sight.

Michael looks like he's been ripped to shreds. His body anyway; his father seldom touches his face. He's mostly naked, he's somehow managed to get his jacket and shirt off (which are on the floor and bloodied), but it looks like he couldn't manage his pants all the way. He's bleeding all over his sheets.

I don't know where the slice marks end and Michael begins there are so many; he's sprawled out on his back and not moving. "Michael?"

"H-hello, Misser Winchesser. Fuck. Win _chester_ ," he manages.

I can completely understand why he doesn't want Dean to know; because looking at Michael, I want to kill Lucifer. I can only imagine what Dean would want to do to Lucifer; and he'd be relentless, we wouldn't be able to stop him; he'd end up dead.

Michael's become one of my own. Whatever ends up happening between Dean and him, he always will be. I feel like I've known Michael since he was a little boy. I've looked after him; he's looked after my son; he's a Colt and a Winchester. He's a son to me, in some messed up way, since technically he's the one who's older than me, and an angel. "What happened?"

"He w-was…pissed we didn’t…get the object. It was either thissss…or the Texas trip."

"Dean doesn't even know about Texas. You should have just cancelled Texas. What were you thinking?"

He doesn't answer that. "I…need your…help."

"You need a hospital. I can't help this Michael. How much blood can your vessel lose?"

"N-n-no, hospitals. A lot. My grace is…already replenishing. I feel much b-better than I did an hour ago."

"You've been lying here in agony, all by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Foolish, foolish, angel."

"I need…I need you to help me c-clean up. Tend to my vessel like before. Get me ready for, dinner."

"Dinner? As in tonight? I don't think so Michael, this is nothing like before. You're not going anywhere."

"No. Please. I have to."

"Cas won't mind if you miss dinner for this, Michael. This goes under the category of acceptable excuses."

"You don't understand…I have to be there. See? Getting better already…I can already talk again."

Sure he's not slurring as much, but his words are labored and don't have the usual Michael punch. "You don't _need_ to be there."

He sighs like I'm the most moronic being he's ever had the inconvenience of dealing with. "Dean."

"Tell him your father needs you tonight. He'll understand."

"I like to keep that to a minimum and I probably will have to miss at some point for that. I already fail him in so many ways…this is important to him…it's all I can give him."

"And you do."

"It's too soon…and the timing is…he'll think it's because of what happened between him and that oversized meathead."

"So what if he does? You two have been through worse, he'll be upset tonight, you'll explain it to him in a couple days."

"I'm losing him."

I think, yeah, there's a tear in his eye, he doesn't even try to wipe it away, I doubt he can move his arms yet. "You should catch it Mr. Winchester. It's said an angel's tears are supposed to have special powers."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. No one does. No angel's ever cried before, 'till me."

"Then how can anyone know they do anything?"

"God told me."

Oh. That's how then. I don't gather them, how could I when he looks utterly obliterated? "You know how to keep him Michael."

He scoffs as best he can. "After all this time, you don't think I'd commit to Dean in a heartbeat? You think I like watching anyone lay their hands on him? You think I like that it hurts him when I fuck others? You think I don't want to rip _Brad_ to shreds because he is so fucking perfect for Dean? Even if he does need some sort of help to get him off the steroids he's using."

I've always suspected it was something, and I shouldn't have said that so accusingly, but it's hard to watch Dean get hurt and not get just a little upset. "I do Michael, but you've never told me why. Tell me why."

"You're going to wish you didn't know. Are you sure you don't want to continue to live in ignorance?"

"I'd rather know that every time my boy comes home in tears over you, it's for a good reason."

"Just remember; you asked."

"I will."

"Remember when my father came to your 'Colt barbeque?'"

"I remember the one." If I had known Michael's father was a fudging evil archangel, believe me, I would not have invited him.

"He noticed the chemistry between Dean and I immediately. That we share a profound bond."

"Love?"

"Whatever you humans want to call it. He noted it, but by then there was nothing I could do. Thankfully for you Winchesters, you were exactly what my father was looking for in terms of 'wholesome family fun.' He approved of my interactions with your family."

Michael's father had this bizarre idea that if he grew up as a child, affected by Modlenol, he would 'see' Lucifer as his true father. But even with the Modlenol Lucifer used on Michael (one Michael says he's sure had been tweaked in some way, so it would work on an angel at all, an angel brand Modlenol), it never affected his psyche quite like Dean's had been. Michael was often 'adult-like,' with elements of childlike behaviors, and as he reluctantly admitted to me over our 'tea conversations,' some thoughts and emotions as well.

It had taken several bouts with Modlenol over the millennia, but Dean and I suspect it did work in the end. Michael sees Lucifer as his father—that's pretty clear.

"But while he said I could _keep my human pet_ (his words) knowing I wouldn’t be able to help the bond that would continue to develop, change and grow over time, there would be boundaries that I must abide. I'm not permitted to devote myself to him romantically, like in marriage for instance, which is why I originally tried not to at all, but we all know how well that worked out with your son as stubborn as he is."

Not to mention the deep seeded need Michael has for said son. I let him have his denial.

"I may play with him, but I'm to understand that angels don't devote themselves to humans that way; romantically. I can't take him on a real date. I was even worried about the Sunday dinners thing at first, but Tom pointed out I'm at your house often enough for dinner anyway. It's all I can give him Mr. Winchester. He'll never give permission for me to marry Dean, or for him to live with me. If he finds out that I have, I get two choices: I may kill Dean myself and give him a quick death, or he'll have one of his angels do it for me, but he'll make sure it lasts a long, long time. So that's why I'll always have to have other lovers. I've got to make it real, it's got to be believable…"

I can't help but take a step backward. My heart is beating so hard, it feels like it's going to explode

"I know I shouldn't have involved myself with Dean. But I knew how much it was hurting him to keep telling him no. And well, I gave in and I'm sorry for it, and it's too late. I know you'll hate me now, I-I don’t like many humans, but I very much like you."

Poor Michael; he's rambling, and I am angry, but not at Michael. Sounds like we were all screwed in this department since the moment they set eyes on each other when Dean was a year and a half old. We're in a situation, yeah a difficult one, but we're a family and we'll figure something out together.

I have a thought. "What about now? Who's watching now?"

He knows what I mean. "Well there's Tom; we don't have to worry about Tom. But from time to time there are others—those are the ones I have to be careful of. We don't have to worry about them right now."

I nod.

"If my father knew that I'd gone after Dean instead of helping the others, well let's just say it's some of the reason I could barely talk last night. But I've got some help on the inside now; my older brother Gabriel for one and a few others. We were able to place me where I wasn't. And thankfully father didn't call his angel mafia massacre 'till this morning or I would have had to leave Dean, which would have been near impossible. Then he would have found out, may have even shot me up with Modlenol again."

"Massacre?"

"Oh yes. Believe it, or not, I'm thought of as father's spoiled child. He killed most of the others who were sent last night, only a few of us were left alive. Barely."

"Jesus H. Michael. You've barely got any skin left." I guess he's a form of alive.

"It can all be covered up with clothes. So use your witchcraft hocus pocus you learned from that Shaggy fellow, I think we can have me mobile by dinner."

I shake my head. "You need a miracle Michael and since your miracle juice is tapped out there's just no way I can fix this. I don't suppose Tom could?" I put two fingers to my forehead.

"No. He's not permitted. He was going to do it anyway, but I need him. I won't allow him either. So will you help me?"

He looks so desperate; I can't say no to him. "I'll help you as best I can, but I've got to call Cas. I have to tell him what's going on and that I made it here."

"But you won't tell Dean? Please, he'll—"

"Flip out? Go after Lucifer? Get himself killed? Yeah, I know. I don't plan on telling him Michael." Hell, if I didn't know it would get Dean killed, I'd let him. I'd help him.

I walk out of his 'bedroom' to collect myself, figure out just what the heck I'm going to do and call Cas. Tom's there. "So, can you fix him sir?"

"No…I don't know. Just, can you go run him a bath? I'm going to need your help getting him in it too." That's going to suck.

"Right away, sir."

I call Cas and give him a quick summary of events. "Where's Dean?"

I can practically hear him smiling, amused, through the phone. "Upstairs, pissed at me. I went up shortly after you left, he was just waking, I told him to crack his books and that I'd come back and tell him when he's finished."

Poor, Dean; exiled to his room. But I can't help laughing a little. "Just make sure you bring him food."

"Already on it, Baby. Take as long as you need."

"Okay, Cassy. Love you."

"Love you too."

I make one more call, 'cause I'm going to need help, then I begin the arduous task of stopping the rest of Michael's bleeding as well as bathing the irritated, snippety, angel, who's in a ton of pain.

~DM~

"Do you have to scrub so bloody hard?"

If he wasn't already in so much pain, I'd whack him upside the head. "I'm going as gentle as I can, Michael."

"Sorry. It's," he sighs. "You're not going to be able to fix me, are you?"

When he looks at me like that, I see the 'little boy Michael' I've seen on rare occasion in the past and I suddenly get a burst of determination. "I don't know Michael, but I'm going to do my damnedest."

"Such language, Mr. Winchester." He gives me a weak smile.

"You should hear how many times I've sworn in my head already."

"Careful, or I might actually think you care about me."

"I do care about you Michael."

"For Dean's sake I suppose."

Is he, pouting? I smile. "Like a son Michael. It's got nothing to do with Dean."

Thankfully, that shocks him into silence, which is good. Love him I do, but I can't take another minute of his complaining. Tom stands away from us, but he can hear our whole exchange. I asked him to stay in case I needed him. Getting Michael into the tub was no small feat. Tom offered to fix my eardrums assuming they were broken after Michael screamed in them over and over.

Those times weren't his fault. He tried to remain stoic, but it was near impossible. The slices go all around his back and down his legs; there's not a spot on him without devastation; his father was particularly cruel this time.

I'm trying to get the blood off, while being careful of the torn skin; I'm working on cleaning up the long slices, but it's more than that. I'm caring for him. I do everything lovingly. I even wash his hair and claim there might be blood in it. He doesn't believe me, but lets me.

Then Tom and I have to get him out. He braces himself and Tom insists he takes 'the screaming part' of him and we get him back to his bed, and scream he does and writhe in utter agony.

I begin dressing his wounds, which look marginally better now that he's clean, but there are places where the skin is peeling off of him. It's hard to keep a handle on my anger at his 'father.'

After his wounds are dressed, he still looks awful. His vessel has to heal and all his limited grace automatically works toward that end, but he's got marginally more energy now, more than a human would in such a state. A human wouldn't have survived this.

There's a knock at the door, Tom lets Dr. Shaggy in.

Dr. Shaggy's come to know Michael. He's not stupid, we know he suspects Michael's something else, but he's never asked. He's loyal to us, we know that; he's good people.

His eyes bug out of his head when he sees Michael.

"I know. He needs a hospital, but we can't go there. Just treat him like you would a stab victim. We need him up an mobile by five-thirty."

"Whoa! Sam, dude, this is way outta my league."

I sigh. "I know that too, but please, you're all we've got."

He nods. I know he'll do his best.

I step out again while Dr. Shaggy works on him. I make another call.

"Sam?"

"Uncle Bobby!" It's good to hear his voice. I've taken to calling him Uncle Bobby sometimes, since that's how I always refer to him for Dean. It's kinda habit now.

"What did Dean do this time?"

I laugh. "It's not Dean this time, Bobby." I explain the angel's julienne I've got in the room next to me. "Any ideas?"

"I think you're right—best bet is to get your witch-doctor to heal his vessel some, that'll help, but it would be better if we could give his grace a boost."

"I've thought about that Bobby, any idea how?"

"I usually research how to kill angels, not how to save'em, Sam."

Michael's never come to me in this state, he's never asked me to help heal him. Sure he's had the long white scars many times, which left him tired and cranky, but never completely obliterated. I'd never had cause to call Bobby on his behalf even if I did often wonder if there was something I could do. It always seemed too late. I doubt there's anything we can do now except 'tend to his vessel' as usual.

"I can look through some books for you," he offers.

"That'd be great Bobby." I hear Michael's voice, loud (he must already be healing some) with some of his angry flare. He's not liking what the doctor's doing. "Um, Bobby, call me if you find anything. Gotta go."

"Keep your evil witchcraft away from me, witch! Sam. _Sam!_ He's trying to kill me. Remove this sorcerer."

I roll my eyes; what theatrics. "I was under the impression you'd try anything?"

"Not something I _know_ will kill me."

I look to Dr. Shaggy for an explanation. He doesn't look offended at being called a witch in the least, I think he thinks Michael's funny. "As you know Sam-man, I do a lot of energy work with stones and rocks. I can feel an energy coming from him; something's trying to heal him from inside, a very powerful energy."

I'm impressed. Dr. Shaggy might not know what it's called, but he can sense Michael's grace.

"It, the energy, is unlike anything I've ever felt. It's intense man, like a higher power, like a holy power. It feels…good. My Moldevite stone called to me on this one. It's an ancient stone used for spiritual healing with a totally intense frequency and high vibration. I just thought I'd try it—it might not do anything."

I give Michael my fed up look. I don't think he _knows_ it will kill him; I think he's overreacting. "Will you just let him do it?"

"Do I have much choice?"

"No."

I nod for Dr. Shaggy to proceed as Michael mumbles "I've only ever seen him use herbs, not strange magic medallions."

Dr. Shaggy draws the rock over Michael, seeming to be following a pattern, a couple passes over. "Huh. Strange."

"Strange?" I say.

"Normally, I'd totally follow the meridians the Chinese use in Traditional Chinese Medicine, or Reflexology, like I was just doing."

"Okay…"

"But the energy, the one inside him seems to want me to flow a different path. I think I should trace that path."

I agree. "Do, it."

"Hey, don't I get a say?"

"No," Tom and I say at the same time—apparently Tom cares too.

Michael shuts up.

Dr. Shaggy goes to work again, presumably tracing a new 'path.' I wouldn't know the difference.

"Does that do anything?" he asks Michael.

"I…bloody hell, I think so."

"What do you feel?"

"It's like everything's being massaged. It's soothing, like _it's_ supposed to be." I take the 'it' to mean how his grace is supposed to work. "I think I feel a little stronger."

Dr. Shaggy works on him for an hour and after awhile, I can see the path he's tracing, over and over. Finally he puts the black rock down close to Michael. "There. I think the Moldevite will continue to assist that thick, full energy inside of him if he keeps it beside him, even if the meridians aren't being traced. Tracing the meridians just enhances the effect of the stone, but I think I've gotten him to decent point for accelerated healing. His body's gotta do the rest now."

I notice the doctor's talking to me, like I'm his guardian. I don't think Dr. Shaggy knows exactly what I am to Michael. It's kind of funny when you think about it, but if Michael notices, he doesn't say anything. Michael _looks_ a lot younger than both Dr. Shaggy and I.

"I'll leave him some herbs he can drink as a tea for pain and I'll apply a special poultice that will help with those cuts, they're pretty nasty. He'll still be pretty weak though. I suggest you stay home an rest young dude," he finally says to Michael. Michael's lips twist into a sour expression.

At least Michael looks like he's _beginning_ to heal, versus the shredded mess he was earlier.

"And say I don't rest, is there anything that can buy me temporary strength?"

"I've got a special blend of liquid Ma Huang I've concocted; works better than adrenaline. That tea should numb much of the pain, you'll still find it hard to move around, but you'll feel a little like superman at the same time. It's best administered directly into the vein and right before your event."

"If you'd be so kind as to leave some please good, doctor. I'll take care of the rest."

It's amazing how quick Dr. Shaggy went from sorcerer, to good doctor.

"It's not what I normally do, but I totally believe in going with the flow I'm feeling young dude and that flow is saying it will be okay for me to leave you some. I'm only going to leave one dose though, compadre. It's pretty awesome stuff, you'll definitely be tempted to OD on it"

Judging from the look Michael's giving him, I think he thinks he'll be fine, but in true form to how he was 'raised' he just says "yes, sir."

I pay Dr. Shaggy extra well this time, at least I try to. "Whoa! Sam-man, you don't have to do that. Just pay me my regular house call fees and for the goods I used on him."

"Are you sure?"

"I know good people when I feel them and I don't feel them too often anymore. You and your family are good people. And in case you forgot, there's such a thing called doctor-patient confidentiality," he winks. "You don't gotta pay me off."

"Thank-you."

When he leaves I go back to check in on Michael. I was supposed to make dinner tonight, but if I need to stay with him, I can arrange something else.

"How are you doing, Michael?"

"I feel like fucking roses."

"Okay, enough. I think you're well enough you can clean up your language, Sur. I was thinking I could stay with you for a bit."

I sit down on the bed next to him. "Tom, leave," he commands.

"C-can you, do that thing?"

I smile. Michael wants love, even if he can't say the word. Heck. I don't know if he believes it exists other than in the form of this 'profound bond' he keeps talking about. But he's come to like being cared for as much as he likes to care for Dean. I often told him that since his vessel is human, and humans thrive on the energy of love (least I think so), he needs that to heal just as much as anything else. That's the 'thing' he's referring to. "Of course."

He curls on his side, painfully and hugs a pillow. I decide on carding my hand through his hair since that's the only part of him free of markings other than his face and neck. "Are you sure you've got to do this? I know my son. He'll understand Michael."

"It will upset him."

"You upset him all the time."

"Not this way. This is…different." He's starting to drift off.

"You still look awful, I don't think a couple hours sleep and an adrenaline-like herb are going to be enough to fool Dean."

"I needed to be mobile, and I will be enough for dinner. Now that I'm in a better state, I can tell him I got in a fight with an angel. It happens all the time. He knows."

"You could tell him that's the reason you can't make it."

He's fighting to stay awake. "Please Mr. Winchester. I need to be there."

"Okay. Don't worry about it for now, just sleep, Michael. I'll stay as long as you want."

"Just 'till I'm asleep, but you'll make sure Tom knows to wake me up?"

And he calls Dean stubborn. "I'll make sure."

He's asleep almost instantly, but I stay to watch over him, just to make sure. He seemed confident this wasn't going to kill him, but even with everything we've done, I'm not so sure.

Before I leave, I call Bobby so he can call off his search and promise him Dean and I will visit this summer when we're back. Maybe a Daddy-son road trip in the Impala one of the times Cas is away…

~DM~

"So I'm surprised I'm not on lock down 'till I'm forty," I say to Daddy who still looks fucking tired. Papa _finally_ said I was done studying and Daddy asked if I could help him make dinner.

"Believe me, that was my vote. You're lucky your papa spoils you."

"Spoils? I've been studying for the past four hours. I thought my eyeballs were going to dry up."

"I thank you for not causing him trouble on that, Dean Bean."

"What choice did I have? It was that or get spanked and my butt is already tender."

He laughs at me. "Thanks anyway, sweetheart. I was really worried about you last night; I selfishly voted against you going to Michael's," he admits as he chops carrots.

"I don't blame you. I don't think I would have let my son go trouncing off to his," I don't know what to call Michael. "His angel's house."

"You see? You _are_ spoiled, Sur."

Thinking of it that way, maybe I am. If I did have a son, there's no way I'd let him date an angel dick. Not all angels are like Michael. I grab one of his chopped carrots and pop it in my mouth as I shred lettuce. "I'm glad I got to go though. Michael and I figured stuff out, kinda. But I don't know, Daddy, it seems like he's encouraging me to date Brad, but I don't really think he wants me to date him at all. I think he'd rather give Brad to cannibals tied with cooking string, you know?"

And all of a fucking sudden, he's crying, and I don't know why and I hope Papa doesn't walk in right now. "Daddy, I'm sorry. Did I say something?"

"No. No sweetheart. Come here." He wraps me with his large body. "I'm just a little sad today because of recent events." He pulls away from me, kisses my forehead and wipes his eyes.

"The demons didn't get me Daddy—I won't let'em. 'Sides, aren't you going to teach me?"

"I am." He releases me and I go back to my lettuce shredding. "You need to follow your heart Dean. Don't let me, or Papa, or Michael, or Brad tell you what to do. Okay?"

"Yeah Daddy," I smile at him.

"Unless it's about hunting, then you keep your butt in school until your father and I say otherwise, which will be 'till you're sixty-five."

I laugh. "I'm not going to go hunting. I swear it." I give him more details about last night, what happened pre-demons with Brad; during and after with Michael. Like I said, I'm pretty open with my parents, Daddy's my best friend.

The hearing me tell him the story and being around me soothes him; I can tell he's more relaxed by the time we're ready to put dinner on the table. I'll make sure to hang around him the next couple of days. He doesn't do well with the whole demons near me thing. Let's just say, this isn't the first time. And never mind demons, I had a pretty bad fall off my bike when I was six and he slept in my bed with me for a week; it would have been longer, but Papa intervened.

I was so distracted trying to make Daddy feel better, I don't notice Michael's absence until we're placing stuff on the table. I check my phone. There are no texts from Michael (not even a response to my text from earlier), but there is one from everybody else: Brad and Hannah _and_ Kelsey, _and_ Holden from my hockey team. Wow. When did I become so popular?

I decide to respond to everyone later. I'm starting to fucking worry about Michael. He's never late. Not without telling me at least. Papa joins us. "Dean, I heard from Michael about thirty minutes ago."

At least he called his fucking boyfriend. "Yeah?"

"He's going to be a bit late; he's on his way. He was held up unavoidably."

That means his father. "Oh," I say re-fucking-lieved.

"Why don't you put his plate together for him Dean Bean?"

"Yeah okay, Daddy."

We haven't even said grace yet, when I hear the doorbell ring. I look to Papa, because I want to get it, but I don't ask. "Go ahead, Kiddo."

I head to the door, and when I'm out of Papa's eyesight, I run. He's just coming in the door, I slam into him squeezing him around the waist like I always do. But not like always, his whole body tenses up and he seems to exhale a sharp breath after he's taken a moment to relax his body. I pull away from him and look him over. In all my worried tension he wasn't coming, then elation to find out he was only going to be late, I didn't bother to notice; he's not right. "Hello my duckling. Did you study like a good boy?"

"What the hell is wrong with you Michael? You look fucking terrible."

"That's a fine way to greet me. Maybe I wasn't as thorough as I thought this morning."

"Don't bullshit me."

"I got in a little scuffle with an angel that involved an angel blade at my father's meeting. It's no big deal, but it's still healing. You squeezed the fuck out of it."

I back away. "Oh. Sorry."

"I'm okay."

"Which angel was it?" I remember the angel blade I still have hidden away, maybe it's fucking time to pull it out.

"A dead angel. I won, but I didn't escape without something to remember him by."

"That's too bad. I would have liked a crack at the dick. How dare anyone touch you." I don't realize how angry I am about it until I say the words; I'm panting and breathing hard. Yeah, it's a fucking good thing that angel's dead. All I'm going to say.

Michael's hand reaches out fast and grabs my shirt by its buttoned center, he uses momentum to spin me and slam me against the door. His other arm seems to be hanging kind of limply. "You don't get cracks at angels, do you understand me Dean?"

Michael's blue eyes are blazing like flame centers. "O-okay. Jeez. I'm sorry."

"That's a rule Dean."

I know he knows we're supposed to make the rules together, but it won't matter with that rule. He'll have it whether I want it or not. "Yeah, fine."

He lets me go, then he almost goes. I have to catch him. "Fuck, Michael. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Let's go sit down." Yeah because he can't stand the fuck up anymore.

Daddy sees I'm virtually Michael's crutch once we've entered the dining room and he runs to help, we get Michael into his seat. "He had a scuffle with an angel," I explain.

"Stop fussing over me, Dean."

"How is explaining why you can barely walk, fussing?"

"It's the tone in your voice."

He's really starting to piss me the fuck off. How many injuries (ones my daddy wouldn't let him heal) has he nursed me through? I'm pissed, so I don't say another word and thankfully Daddy decides he'll say grace, which he ends with, "we are thankful that the four of us are all here for this meal. Amen."

"That was quite lovely Mr. Winchester," Michael says to Daddy at the end of the meal, making like he's all fucking fine. He does seem to have recovered from using that little burst of energy to slam me against the door. But he's not using his left arm very much.

"Dean did much of the work," Daddy points out.

"And he says he's not June Cleaver," Michael says.

"I told him he looks good in an apron," Papa joins in.

Okay, the joke's still a little funny, 'cause me as June Cleaver? That's hilarious. I crack a smile.

Michael reaches under the table to grab my hand.

"How about you boys run along?" Papa says. I look at Papa like he's grown a third head. Run along? I thought for sure we'd be having some sort of discussion about Sunday dinners and how Michael's kicked out. Or maybe that's something he's saving for our private discussion, where I'm sure I'm going to get roasted? Either way, I decide it's a good time to get the fuck out if we're going to be dismissed so easily.

"Do you need help?" I ask Michael. He scowls at me.

"I don't need help." He gets up smoothly, but his movements are strangely ridged at the same time.

"Fine. Suit yourself." Why did he bother coming at all? He's being a grouchy asshole.

He grabs my hand again, since he had to let go of it to stand up, and I feel like he's holding tighter than he usually would, even in his weakened, state like he's afraid to let go. And it hits me. All of us may be moving on from last night, but he hasn't. That's probably the real reason why he's so grouchy; the angel brawl wouldn't have helped his mood any; I should cut him some slack.

We head to the living room where he can sit comfortably. "Why don't you lay down Michael?"

"Then where will you sit?"

"On the floor. I can kneel and look up at you adoringly," I tease him.

He smiles. "As much as I like you on your knees and adoring me, I'd rather you be closer to me." He sits down against the left couch arm side, so he can put the arm that doesn't seem to be working well on it, and pulls me down with him carefully. I'm gentle as I snuggle into him. "So, tell me. Did you see Bradley Beefcakes today?"

"Oh my god Michael, I don't want to talk about him. You're hurt, even if you don't want to admit it. I don't want to rile you up."

"I'll take that as a yes. I'll bet he was just tickled pink to know I've said he can still play with you."

"I actually broke up with him, or tried to anyway. But as it turns out, I'm going on a second date this Wednesday."

"That's funny. I don't recall you asking me about that, but I do seem to recall a conversation in which you were supposed to run all your plans by me."

Shit. I fucking forgot. "Right. I'm sorry, I forgot. Um, Michael?"

"Yes, Dean."

"I'd like to go out on Wednesday. Will that work out for all parties involved?"

"No."

"What? You're not being serious are you? Holy fuck you are. I said I was sorry."

"You should be punished in some way."

I don't say anything to that and ball my fists because I did agree to the rule and I did fuck up, but it's real fucking inconvenient. What will I tell Brad? He'll be pissed.

"It's fine for you to go, you can un-ball your fists now. Besides, you need all the opportunities you can get to win our little bet."

What the hell? This is fucking confusing. Yeah I was upset by the ruling, but now he's undone it, I'm upset at the undoing of it. There was something I got from him telling me I couldn't go. It was a rule. I broke it. There should be a consequence. Me not going is the obvious one. But shouldn't I just be fucking happy that I can go? That's what I wanted in the first place. I don't get it. So I'm still left with nothing to say because I've got no clue how to articulate my feelings.

"What's wrong now?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. I'm just worried about you Michael," I lie. But it's not really a lie, because I am worried about him. My sincerity comes across.

"I'm okay, Duckling." He turns my head to facing him and he leans in to kiss me. I don't expect his tongue to enter my mouth—not when we're on the couch in the living room where my parents could walk in at any moment—but it slides in and tangles with mine. My damn cock hardens and I try pulling in one of his breaths. He pulls away gives me a weak smile.

"I'm going to have to fucking masturbate later after a kiss like that you know."

"Good. Think of me."

"I always fucking think of you, Michael."

"Really? Tell me."

"Well last week I got a hard on as I was about to go to sleep."

"Inconvenient."

"I pulled down my pajama pants, so they were just under my cock and grabbed my trusty bottle of lube before I laid down on my bed."

"Do you always wear pajamas to bed?"

"Didn't you notice I was wearing them in the morning when we woke up? I put them back on in the middle of the night when I said I was going to the bathroom at your place. I get cold."

"I will keep you warm."

"You rolled over."

"It shan't happen again. When you sleep in my bed, you sleep naked. Rule," he smirks.

"You're quite rule happy lately. You do realize I have to agree to these rules?"

"Oh you'll agree to that one," he says confidently.

I shake my head. "Do you want to hear about me jacking off or do you want to argue about pajamas?"

"Proceed."

"I imagined I walked into your loft and you were playing Metallica."

"For Whom the Bell Tolls, or Fade to Black?"

"Of course For Whom the Bell Tolls." I schooled Michael in Metallica, because I never forgot about Metallica—that's something you can't forget. To my shock, he fucking loved it right away. "You told me to put my hands on the counter and when I did, you unbuttoned my jeans, yanked them down and started spanking my ass."

"Are you sure this wasn't my fantasy? I just don't see you as the obedient type. Shouldn't you have given me more lip?"

"I was really fucking horny, there wasn't time for lip—but I've got some of those fantasies too, where I'm a real brat and you've got to teach me a lesson."

"I see."

"Anyway, you fucked me all around your apartment after you warmed my ass. It ruled. I came hard," I start laughing. "And I must have been loud because Daddy happened to be walking past my room and asked me if I was okay."

"I could have lived my whole existence never knowing that part of the story. You're an over sharer."

"I share just the right amount."

"What'll it be tonight then?"

"Not sure yet, I don't really plan these things."

"So long as I'm the one starring in your fantasies and not Rad Brad."

"Really? I was thinking a threesome."

His grip on me tightens. "That's a good idea, if you want Brad to end up with a broken dick after I snap his monstrous appendage in half. I thought you wanted him to fuck you with it?

"Right, so no threesomes."

We're quiet after that for a bit and I eventually feel Michael's breathing change to the methodic rhythm of sleep. He's out cold.

That's when Daddy comes in. "I think we should get Michael home Dean. How about we take him together Sugar? I'll drive his Jeep, you can follow in the Impala. What do you say?"

I nod. Michael really shouldn't even be here. I can tell he's in a great deal of pain, especially if he's fucking nodded off into one of his dead sleeps like that. "Hey Daddy, Papa would have let Michael out of tonight, I know he would have, do you think Michael didn't know? Maybe we should tell him?"

"I think he knows sweetheart."

"I don't understand why he'd come then, it's just Sunday dinner; he didn't want to do it in the first place. He hates anything that's too couplely."

"Well, because the one Dean Winchester is here, that's why."

"He just saw me this morning and last night…do you think it's because of last night? Is there something I should be doing?"

He laughs his amused laugh. "Well he…I think you're doing just fine, sweetheart. But not to worry, we have lots of time to talk about things you can do."


	10. Teenagercoaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly as the chapter title implies. Dean is on a roller coaster of teen emotions all fucking chapter. Be glad you didn't have to write the thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you think Dean's being kind of a dick, just remember that he doesn't exactly know all the ongoings with Michael. And, 17. All I'm sayin'.
> 
> And SanKatyLight had a great suggestion (she always has THE BEST suggestions) for the fictional town these characters live in on the California side of things. A little shout out to Misha ;-) 
> 
> The 'Mark' in this story is not Mark Pellegrino. Another original character for you to cast yourself.
> 
> P.S. Yes Stanford (where Dal and Sam went to school) is in Collins CA. Because I want it to be.

When I move to get out of bed, I can feel my still sore ass (though far less sore than yesterday) and I smile because I think of Michael. I like the reminder that he's always got my back; can save me from myself. I make sure to put aloe on it, because Michael will fucking kill me if I don't, then I get ready for school.

I check my phone and as has been the case lately, I've got several text messages.

I smile at Brad's text. _Good morning beautiful. Yes, you were the first thing I thought of this morning._ We were texting 'till fairly late last night while I was in bed, but I was still pretty tired and fell straight to sleep after an excellent masturbation session.

Kelsey sent me a text too. She really wants to do this double date thing, and not wanting to let her down, I tell her I'll make it happen. Holden sent me the date for the Hockey get together, which is just before we leave for Texas, which is in two more weeks.

Hannah and I also chatted via text last night (yeah I had two fucking conversations going for a little while) we talked about the 'happenings' for a very short time, since she was way more interested in my fucking love life. But she's sent one this morning asking if I can pick her up for school.

But Michael's text is perplexing. Even with all the 'positive' texts I've gotten filled with happy 'teenage' goings on, it only takes his one short text to make my whole mood swoop downward. _Can't see you this week. Busy. See you Friday._

Friday? Fucking Friday? And it's so short and abrupt and well, he didn't call me beautiful, or duck. Hell, I'll even take petal, or fucking _pickle_ over whatever the fuck that text was. I make the rash decision to be an asshole back.

 _No problem. I'm busy too. I've got plans for Friday._ I leave off the 'asshole,' because well, I'm pissed, but I'm not suicidal. I'm fucking worried about him and in true Michael form he's going to distance himself from me and be a dick while doing it. Fine.

I shower and get ready for school, then head down to the kitchen, still pissed.

Daddy's there. "I suggest you cool that thunderstorm you've got brewing on your face, Sur. That's the one that gets you in trouble with your father."

"I don't have a thunderstorm on my face, Daddy," I say as I sulkily sit at the bench on my sore fucking ass that's all Michael's fucking fault.

Daddy gives me coffee and some breakfast all the while watching me with a disapproving look.

"Morning family," Papa says when he enters the kitchen. "What's up with sunshine over there?" he says to Daddy. Yes he's being fucking sarcastic.

"I don't know yet, but I think I can guess."

"I'm fine," I try to say politely, but I wish everyone would just leave me the fuck alone this morning. I can feel father's eyes boring into me.

"Do you want to try that again? Or do you need help?" Papa says. Help means spanking in case you haven't been following along.

I look down at my plate in front of me. "No, sir. I'm sorry—it's just…Michael."

"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, baby boy. What happened? How much could the guy do in his state?" Daddy says.

"He text me saying he's too fudging _busy_ to see me 'till Friday."

"Good Lord, Dean," Daddy says thinking I'm ridiculous. 

"He's hurt, Dean. He probably just wants to rest," Papa says.

What the fuck? Did Papa just _defend_ him? He usually takes my side.

"But aren't I supposed to take care of him? Like, bring him chicken noodle soup and stuff. That's what you're supposed to do for sick…for people you care about."

"You're busy today anyway Dean Bean. We have a ton of baking to do for the fundraiser, plus we are hosting the food for the event this year. Michael will heal just fine on his own. Tom's looking after him."

We didn't even get to go in the building last night. Tom was there ready to take Michael from us. I wanted to tuck him in, make sure he was taken care of, but I didn't get to do any of that. Complete bullshit.

I don't mean to, but I glare at Daddy. He's not getting it. No one is. Why are they being so insensitive this morning? I feel like they're both against me.

"That's enough Dean," Papa says. "I'm giving you until after to school to sort yourself out and if you don't have it figured out by then, I'm doing it for you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." This morning sucks. Daddy gives me his 'what did I tell you?' look, feeling no sympathy for me whatsoever.

Somehow I manage to make it out of the house without a spanking and I'm super glad when it's just me and Baby driving to Hannah's.

"So, I've been doing some more thinking about Saturday night," she says.

"I already told you Han, I'm not getting the Letterman jacket back and Brad knows this."

"Not about Brad, about the strange shit that happened, ass. None of it makes any sense."

What the? She didn't seem interested in it at all when we were texting and suddenly now I find out she's been sleuthing? "I thought we already talked about this."

"We did, but I couldn't say much on the phone Dean. If it is something, anyone could be listening—big brother you know. Best we talk in person."

I do not like where this is going.

"Something about it reminded me of that old show we used to watch, _Totally Supernatural Dudes_ with those two really hot guys."

Aw fuck. Yeah, so a while back, Uncle Jared and Jensen found out this prophet dude was writing books about them, because he thought he was this really great writer, but turns out he was receiving prophecies from 'above.' I wasn't given all the details, just enough to be able to laugh my fucking face off, especially when the books got made into a T.V. show that only ran one season. It's still a huge hilarious joke for those of us in the family 'in the know.' I still think the name is really dumb. Totally Supernatural Dudes? Why not just call it Supernatural?

"I loved that show. It's too bad they don't make more episodes."

"I only watched it for you Han."

"Yeah, I don’t think so Dean. Anyway, the guys in that show used to pretend to be FBI agents, and other kinds of officers when they'd question people. I can't let what happened the other night go for some reason and well, I wouldn't mind doing some looking around for fun."

"Aside from the fact that we both _look_ seventeen and would never pass for agents of any kind, the police are handling it. It could be dangerous, we should stay out of it." Jesus Christ. I cannot let Hannah involve herself.

"Well duh. Of course we can't be 'officers.' But kids are always doing those work experience programs for school. Maybe we're 'junior' officers, sent after the real officers have done their work, you know, to practice what it's like to ask questions. And we're just asking questions Dean, out of curiosity. That's it. No danger about it."

Except my parents and Michael would put this under the category of hunting and I'd end up grounded for fucking life. That sounds pretty dangerous to me.

But then she makes it fucking harder for me to say no. "Here. You know how handy I am on Adobe. I made these. I think they're pretty fucking good."

She hands me my ID badge: Junior Agent James Hetfield. "You made me the lead singer of Metallica?"

She's smiling, giddy and totally proud of herself. "I know, right? Totally kick-ass. I'm Ann Wilson."

From Heart. "My fucking favorite lady band and my fucking favorite band of all time. You're killing me Hannah."

She laughs. She fucking knows it too.

Now I'm fucking considering it. "Don't these programs usually involve going with the actual officer?"  
"Way ahead of you." She pulls out another badge, it's for Brad. "He looks like he's thirty—he'll pass."

"That's never going to work. Everyone knows Brad in this town. He's the fucking Captain of the football team. He knows Derek Miller's girlfriend, she's a cheerleader, which makes them practically family."

"Miller's girlfriend is a cheerleader, but he's not actually on the football team. I'm betting on Brad not knowing him all that well, so I doubt he's ever been to the house other than for parties, which his parents are never present at. And besides, we'd do this during school hours, so only Mr. Miller would see us. Rumor has it, he's out of town a lot. Come to think of it, have you noticed they're never around much at all? That's something to write down," she mutters the last part to herself. "I highly doubt he's even met Brad; I'd be surprised if he made time to attend games, since his son isn't even on the team. But if you're really worried, we can make a good disguise for Brad."

This is a bad fucking plan and I don't like the skipping school part. More things for my parents to find out. "No. No way Han. It'll never work, let's just leave well enough alone." I flick the 'badge' at her.

But Hannah's not one to give up easily. "Okay. You're a fucking grouch this morning, I get it, but I'm leaving this here for you anyway. You can think about it." She slips it into the glove box as I pull into my parking spot. Fucking Hannah.

"Aw, c'mere baby girl. You know I love you and these badges are awesome—I just can't do it, okay?"

"Okay, Dean. Whatever you say," she says with a smile that says she's not accepting that and she'll just harass me about it later. Fuck.

I check my phone again before I enter the building. Michael hasn't even responded to my asshole text. Now I'm a mix of worried and mad. Maybe I should just go by there real quick after school?

Brad's sitting on the short cement wall by the stairs that lead to the entrance. He hops down when he sees me. He's wearing his jacket even though he probably doesn't need it, since it's pretty hot, but those football guys don't seem to go anywhere without their jackets. I've got one for hockey, but I don't wear it all the fucking time.

Suddenly, my bad mood melts away; I smile when he smiles. "Hey, Sugar." He kisses my lips and takes my hand. We walk into school together.

"Morning. I've got lunch for us." I told Daddy all about our lunch date, so of course he packed us something.

"Aw, you didn't have to do that."

"I didn't. Daddy did."

"Well just the fact you're going to share with me Dean Winchester."

I look at him surprised.

"I may be a football jock, but I pay attention." His blue eyes pretty much sparkle; it feels nice to be paid attention to, especially after this morning.

I am a little shy at the attention we're getting as we walk down the hall together. Yeah shy. I don't really favor being this kind of center of attention. But he clearly is.

We stop by my locker and I drop the lunch stuffs and exchange a few books out. He insists on carrying my book bag to class for me. "What you got first, Sugar?"

"A Calculus Final."

"Calculus?"

"Yeah, I'm in all the 'advanced placement' classes. You still want to date a nerd?"

"'Course I'm still dating you. I love it. I'm just impressed. You're a jock and a genius. Besides some of the other football guys are in some AP classes. But calculus? I'm not looking forward to taking that next year."

"I'm good at it. I'll help you," I say without realizing what I'm saying. That's assuming we're still together next year and I didn't mean to fucking say that. It makes him happy though.

"My hero."

He drops me at class and kisses my lips again. "Kindly extricate yourself from Mr. Winchester, Mr. Davis and please refrain from making out in front of classroom doors. Mr. Winchester, get in here." That's Mr. Arbuckle, my calculus teacher. He's really not a bad guy, just doing his job.

"Good luck even if you don't need it. See you later darlin'."

There's a childish round of 'Ohh-oooh's' from the kids already in class. The second bell hasn't even rung yet, so not everyone's here. "Sorry, Mr. Arbuckle."

"Take your seat, please." It's a good thing I'm doing well in his class. He's not one to pick favorites, but being a calculus ace does buy me some points with him. He could have given me detention for that.

I do well on the test; I'm finished early and as it turns out it was a good thing Papa made me study those extra hours. I swear to Christ that guy has a real magic eight ball. I'm so glad we got to take this exam pretty early, this class will become a spare block now, which I kind of neglected to tell my parents. They'd fill it with something, trust me and I'd rather keep it free.

My next class is English, which actually does have a few football jocks (as depicted by their jackets) even though it's the advanced placement version and they call me over. "Hey Winchester, you sit with us now."

"Oh, I do, do I?" I don't really sit with anyone except Hannah. We're not in every class together. She's AP too, but it's a decent sized school with a couple of choices of class times for each AP class.

I recognize one of the guys from the party. The Mark dude. "We've gotta talk about how we're going to put some meat on those bones in the gym."

I don't really care if I sit with them or not, so I do. It's actually all right.

Brad and I meet for lunch, we decide on outside since it's so fucking nice out. No. Michael still hasn't text me in case you were wondering.

"This is good. Your daddy's a real whiz in the kitchen. What kinda Sandwich is this?"

"Well the one you ate last time, Daddy calls that the Deanwich. This one's called the Dean special."

"Do all his sandwich names have the name Dean in them?" he asks wryly.

"Um, yeah I think so."

He laughs. "That man sure loves you."

Yeah, and I was grouchy this morning and wouldn't listen to him all because of stupid Michael.

"So what other kinds of Deanwiches are there?"

He's lying on his side, jacket off and I'm sitting cross legged away from him with my school jacket off and my sleeves rolled up. "Well, there's the Meatball Deanmarine."

He laughs. "Then there's the Quesadeana, and the Dean dip." He's laughing harder now.

"Your daddy's awesome."

"He's the fucking best."

Daddy also packed us dessert. "Does this have a name?" he asks.

"No. Just regular old brownies with cashews," I say and leave out that when I was three I thought cashews were called Dean's shoes. Don't ask me where I got the Dean from in that—but with Daddy adding Dean to everything, can you blame me? So Daddy sometimes still calls them brownies with Dean's shoes to tease me.

"You might have the metabolism of a hummingbird, but I'm going to have to work some of this off. I'm going to hit up the gym after school tomorrow, think you can join me?"

I shake my head. "I've gotta help Daddy. All week actually." Speaking of which, I may have cleared Brad's and my date with Michael, but I haven't with Daddy yet. Normally he wouldn’t have a problem, but I did promise to be his bake sale slave.

When we're all done, Brad pulls me closer, but not too close. We've already been reprimanded once for PDA's today, we have to be careful at school if we're going to be out in the open like this (which is why I prefer bushes and underneath football stands), but I do lay next to him staring up at the sky. My hand's stretched out on his rippling six-pack I can feel under his shirt and he's holding my hand.

I've never done this before. Just hang out in the open, on a semi-date with someone. I always just jump into sex then jump the fuck out. I remember something. "Kelsey wants us to double date with them." Wow. Even that just makes Brad and me sound so, married. I did just used 'us' in a sentence. I wanted to fucking try it though and I think I liked it.

"Sounds good. How's Friday? You free from baking duty then?"

I'm supposed to see Michael Friday, as per his 'demand,' but you know, I don't fucking feel like it. Apparently I'm not important enough to come take care of him when he's injured. I'm just some stupid, pesky human he indulges from time to time, waiting around for him to give me the time of day.

"Friday's perfect," I say, but it's also the same time the little pit in my stomach grows a little wider. I honestly forgot to run plans by Michael last time, but this time I'm just outright disobeying him. Don't ask me how I plan on making this workout, I don't think that far ahead.

"Okay, I'll make it happen." We lay there in companionable silence 'till the warning bell rings and it's not 'till much later in class when I realize I didn't even try to have sex with Brad and I still had a good time anyway.

~DM~

On my way home I do think about stopping by. I mean, Michael's usually pretty quick to respond to my snarky, assholish texts, maybe something's wrong. Maybe I have been the dick? Is that even possible? Okay, yeah I know it is. I can be a real dick sometimes, but I mean in this situation, he's the dick, right?

And like he suddenly knows I'm about to come by, he texts me. _I don't know what you're upset about now, but calm down. I'm not avoiding you on purpose. And you will be free Friday, because I don't recall okaying any plans._

He sounds just fine. Bet his grace has already healed him. I can just picture the full strength angel, trouncing around all cocky and fucking arrogant in his blazer. And since when is it him 'okaying' my plans? It was only supposed to be me 'running stuff by him,' to make sure someone was around to 'protect' me in case of a freak demon attack. I was okay and all calmed down, but now I'm pissed again. I feel like a fucking ping pong ball of emotions today.

I try to make it to my room without anyone seeing me, but it's just my luck today, that Papa happens to be walking by the entryway, on his way to the kitchen as I'm coming in the door. But his back is turned so I attempt to sneak past him. "Hold it right there Mr. Winchester." I freeze on the stairs and turn to face him.

He swivels around and appraises me and things don't look good for Dean 'Chester. He shakes his head. "No way Dean. Come with me please."

I groan and my whole demeanor slumps. I know where we're going and what's going to happen. I think it was inevitable—I should have just asked Papa to do it before school.

He holds the door open for me and I go into his office ahead of him. "Take your jacket and pants off please."

"Papa, please. I'm still sore from yesterday."

"I imagine so. Do you trust me?"

I sigh and nod. "Yes, sir." Because I really do.

"Okay then. Pants off."

I hang my jacket and pants on a chair together and follow Papa to his armless chair. He brings me over his lap. "I'm sorry I have to pull these down, Dean. I don't know what's already there, I need to be able to see."

I just nod and lift my hips up for him, so he can pull my boxers to my ankles. "Actually, this looks really good. Michael did a good job." He rests his hand on one of my cheeks and the other on the small of my back pushing the long dress shirt up. I have my hands bracing myself on the floor and my toes on the ground on the other side doing the same, but his hand holding me there makes me feel protected. And much as I didn't want this, now that I'm here I feel equal parts relief and embarrassment that he has to do it at all.

That's all he says though before giving each cheek a tap from his hand. I inhale sharply, because they hurt, but I can tell he's not hitting me hard. Just enough to wake up what's already there.

"I've made the observation that you allow whatever's going on with you and Michael affect your entire attitude, and you take it out on whoever happens to be in the vicinity of hurricane Dean. I don't like to see you storming around, a pent up ball of anger until the next time you and Michael make up." He punctuates that with two more spanks of equal caliber to the first. I feel them.

"I'm sorry, Papa, but I get so upset. Aren't I allowed to be upset?"

"Of course you are," he says smoothing his hand over where he just spanked (it helps take some of the sting out). "However, there are better ways of dealing with it. We all mope sometimes Dean, but now it's at least every other day for you."

He spanks me again. "I think you've been taught plenty of other methods. Can you remind me of what they are?"

This is the part where most teenagers would get off saying, 'I don't know,' or 'whatever.' But when you're lying facedown over your father's knee, those answers just won't fly. And FYI, don't ever say 'whatever' to Papa. I'm already tearing up. He isn't spanking me hard, but he doesn't need to today. All of my emotions are already at the surface and he's right, I do let my 'Michael emotions' control me. "I can always," sniff, "talk to you or Daddy, or Uncle Dal, or anyone really." I have a huge fucking family as you know, but sometimes I have to be reminded.

"Good. What else?"

"Journaling, or go do something active if I really can't talk about it rather than fester and stew and be a jerk to everyone."

He spanks me again. "You're not a jerk, Dean. And that's all very good, but you've still missed one, I'll give you a hint." I can't help clenching my cheeks a little when he lays down four more spanks.

"I-I can ask for a spanking." Father calls these 'thinking' kinds of spankings, but I think they're talking kinds of spankings. And I know I can ask for these anytime; you might be shocked to know I have.

I'm really crying by this point. I didn't realize just how upset I've been since this morning, but Papa knew and this is just about the fastest way to 'sort me out.' He rubs the sting out while I cry a little bit, adding a spank here and there and telling me to 'let it all out, kiddo.'

It doesn't go on long, it doesn't need to. Soon he's rubbing my back then standing me up to fix my boxers for me, since I'm blinded with tears and he hugs me tight to him; I grab on for dear life. "I'm s-sorry, Papa."

"It's okay, angel. Feel a little better?"

"Yes, sir. Thank-you." He lets me cry into his shoulder for a little and when he can tell I've stopped, he pulls away and wipes at my tears with his thumb.

"How about put your pants back on, and we can finish talking?"

"Yes, sir."

I slide them on and I'm surprised when I only have the same amount of discomfort as before, just with a bit of extra glow. I felt the spanking while he was doing it, but he left enough of a break in between each swat that the sting was pretty much gone by the time he laid down new ones. He's pretty good at spanking. He can make you feel it, or he can simply give you a reminder when he wants to. I'm very grateful it wasn't a 'real' spanking today.

I leave my shirt untucked and loosen my tie when I sit in one of the comfy leather chairs in front of his desk, he hands me a tissue then leans his ass against the front and crosses his arms comfortably, which means we're not finished by a long shot.

I wipe my eyes and face, then blow. Papa waits.

"The relationship you and Michael have is very mature for such a young person Dean."

My stomach swoops, that's not the best line to open with Papa, but he does that sometimes, so I realize the gravity of what he's saying—this could go in a couple directions. "If it were anyone other than Michael, I wouldn't have allowed it. I want you to understand that."

"I do, Father." He's mentioned it many times over.

"I also understand that this is 'normal' teenage behavior—allowing their boyfriends and girlfriends to dictate their every waking thought, but I expect you to ask for help with the mature relationship I'm allowing you to have with Michael. I want to see a lot more maturity, in fact."

I fucking start crying again and I try to hide my face by bowing my head and palming my eye with the heel of my hand. "Why are you crying, Kiddo?" He knows it's a different kind of crying, or I'd already be back over his knee.

"Because I'm such a fuck-up Papa. I do everything wrong. It's probably why Michael doesn't want to see me this week." That's my and Papa's little secret. He doesn't care so much if I swear when Daddy's not around, so long as I'm not crazy about it, now that I'm older. He cared very much when I was a little kid.

"Oh, Dean," he sighs. "Papa's too harsh again." He moves over to sit on the arm of the chair and pulls me into him. "You're certainly not a fuck-up Dean. You're a teenager. I'm somewhat glad to see it actually, but it's my job to help you, guide you, understand? You need to experience this tornado of emotions, but I need to make sure it doesn't consume you. That's all this is."

"Okay." I just hate fucking letting him down.

He cards fingers through my hair. "Michael's really hurt Dean. That's why he doesn't want to see you. You know that. And I know what you said about wanting to take care of him, but that's not his style. He prefers to take care of you. Don't you remember what it's like around here when I'm sick?"

That makes me laugh. "I remember when you chucked soup at Daddy's head."

"You liked that did you? He was driving me mental with all his love and caring."

"How dare he."

"I think Michael knows that you're a lot like your daddy and he doesn't want to chuck soup at your head."

And just like that, Papa makes me feel better. "Oh, well why didn't you say that earlier?"

"Because I didn't have that thought earlier. You make it so I want always to be a better person, Dean. And just a moment ago, you needed more from me; something I didn't have this morning, so I said: Pull it the fuck together Winchester, and like magic I knew how to explain it so you understood."

Okay now I don't just feel better, I feel like a million bucks. I make _him_ want to be better? I've always admired Papa and respect him like crazy. He and Daddy always make me want to be better. I turn my face up to smile big at Papa.

"Are we clear on what I expect from you?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you forget, I'm more than happy to remind you Mr. Winchester."

I laugh. "I really got it, Papa."

"Okay, June. I think your apron awaits. Daddy's baking up a storm."

"Yeah, I was surprised to see you going into the kitchen at all."

"I was hiding, earlier, but I know how frazzled he gets and needed to check on him. But now that you're here, I'm completely off the hook."

"Oh I don't know, Daddy can hook me in pretty good."

"True. I think we've got at least a couple days before that happens and I can hope Michael heals early."

Okay, now I'm totally suspect of a budding bromance. He _wants_ Michael's help?

"All right. You'd better get going before Daddy looks for you."

Speaking of, I feel my phone vibrate and when I pull it out it's Daddy. _Where are you? I see the Impala, but no Dean. Come to the kitchen, Sur._

"Crap. I gotta go, Papa. Thank-you. I actually needed that."

"I know you did. Anytime, Kiddo."

~DM~

I texted Daddy to tell him I was just changing, head up to put some baking appropriate clothes on and head down.

"I've been waiting for you, where were you?"

It's a really good thing I didn’t detour to Michael's house. "Papa spanked me," I complain, hoping I'll get a bit of sympathy from him.

"It's about time. Put that apron on and start making pie crust."

That's all the sympathy I get in this house. And Daddy's gone into his, what we call, the S.S. Sam, Captain of the ship mode. It's the one you don't fuck with. This version of my daddy even scares Uncle Jen. So I just hop to it.

But it's as I'm making pie crust, I realize: Fuck. I was a fucking dick to Michael and I still have to deal with all that.

When we get a few pies together, Daddy relaxes some. "I have another recruit for Wednesday."

"Oh?"

"Brad said he'd help. He can't bake, but he can be our muscles. He can cart jars of beans away or something."

"Excellent Dean Bean."

"And after, if you don't mind us leaving, he was going to take me out for dinner, but we can just go for a quick bite and come back to help you."

"That should be okay, Sweetheart. I'm sure I'll be okay on my own by then." Sometimes Daddy forgets how much help he really had back home when he did stuff like this. And if you're wondering why he won't just get it catered, I'll let you ask him that and get your head bit off. Not even Papa's touching that one. Everyone has to take turns hosting the food for this thing and Daddy's going to do it right.

Contrary to what Papa said about staying away, he comes in to check on us. "How are my boys?"

"Good, Papa. Getting lots done."

"Busy," Daddy tries.

"Sounds like I came at the perfect time to take my family out for dinner."

"We're pretty busy, Cassy. We've got a lot of pies together, but only some of them baked."

"I wasn't asking, Baby," Papa sing-songs. Even I knew that. Daddy must really be into Captain mode.

"Yes, Cas. This pie comes out in twenty minutes."

"Good. Let Donald know and he can take it out when it's done."

Daddy's fists ball up and I have to try not to laugh. They're fun to watch and I wonder what Michael and I look like. But Michael and I will never be them, we won't get to because of his no marriage policy. Brad and I could. I think it before I can stop myself and I can't help picturing it for just a second. I meant what I said, I don't want to get married for a while, but fuck, I think I do someday.

"I will Cassy."

"Thank-you, Baby."

"Where we going, Papa?"

"I thought that burger place sounded good, the one Brad took you to."

"Sweet, burgers."

"Cas."

"Don't worry, I phoned ahead, they have a grass-fed burger and they serve salads."

~DM~

When we get there, I see there's a swarm of kids around one booth in particular, when I get closer, I recognize the white cowboy hat and head nod and plough through the fucking crowd. When he sees me, he tells his bouncer to part the sea of kids and I feel like fucking Moses.  
"Uncle Dal!"

"Hey Half-pint." He stands and wraps me in a big hug.

"You're here."

"Yep. We're doing a surprise show here, just booked it last night. Can you come? I'll make sure you have as many tickets as you need."

After all that great schooling, earning his Ph.D. in psychology (which came in real handy when I was younger, still does), Uncle Dal became a country singer. And he's really fucking popular which is why it's shocking to see him in a joint like this. Our town, Collins, is not the largest one in California, but it's got us, so he plays in our small concert venue every so often. We talk all the time though and he's still here plenty, since he technically lives here. He has his own home in Collins where he stays when he's not on tour. He could never bring himself to leave us.

"Of course I'll be there. When is it?"

"Friday."

Of course it fucking is. 'Cause there are no other fucking days in the week. "I'll be there." I'll figure something out. I realize belatedly it's something I'll have to clear through Papa, since it's something that probably doesn't end 'till ten.

"This is my last stop. Then I'm heading onto Texas with y'all."

"Dally!" Daddy screams in true Colt fashion from behind me.

"Sammy!"

I move the fuck out of the way and let them do their thing. I'm definitely more like Papa's family in that regard; I don't usually scream my head off and jump around like they do. Uh, except for what you just saw a moment ago—I'm known to get excited a time or two; especially when it's a surprise. C'mon.

Papa's last to greet him in his more reserved Winchester manner with a warm brotherly hug. "Good to see you Dallas."

It's a good visit. Daddy makes me order the grass-fed burger with salad, but Papa gets an order of fries for the table. "And you say you're not spoiled, Dean Winchester."

We all laugh. Uncle Dal tells us stories from the road.

It's fun and relaxing and a good way to erase any residual darkness from the past two days. Uncle Dal has a way of doing that. No matter how dark things seem he's always the sunshine that breaks the clouds.

Dal leaves for his place and I promise to come by sometime this week, though I'm not certain when I'm going to fit it in since things are getting very busy for Dean 'Chester since I've apparently got this huge social life now. Speaking of there's one thing I'd better talk to Papa about pronto. Normally I'd go through the back door and talk to Daddy, but I'm still making up to Daddy for the last act of Dean Winchester selfishness.

Soon as we get home, Daddy leaves to make sure his pies were properly taken care of and I ask Papa if I can talk to him. "What's up kiddo?"

I have to be very careful here. You do not ask to get out of a punishment. That's a well-known rule in our home. If you do, all you're going to find is a lengthened sentence, which I had to learn the hard way when I was younger. Papa takes great offence and considers it a huge disrespect. It also tells him you haven't learned your lesson, so he thinks he has to make it clearer for you.

"So, Uncle Dal has a concert on Friday night and he was wondering if I could go."

"You know you don't have to ask me to go to something like that."

He's fucking testing me. "It's just, kinda late, sir. But not to worry, I'll be home by ten."

"I'm not worried about it at all. I wouldn't be the one in trouble."

My cheeks heat a little.

He smiles. "I know what you're not asking, well played, son. Though this is very close to asking. We've had many a discussion on implications."

"Yes, sir." I look down at my hands, just hoping I'm not in trouble, no longer concerned about being allowed to stay out past curfew. That is not going to happen. I know Papa better than that.

"I'd like to say it was okay you break curfew for this, but I'm sensing you need more structure; not less. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Am I allowed to disagree? Agreeing doesn't exactly help my cause, Father."

He laughs. "I suppose it wouldn't help, no. But if you can give me a good counterpoint on this one, maybe I'll reconsider."

Fuck. I was not prepared for this debate. I am on the debate team (though all of that is over for the school year) but I get all flustered in front of Papa. He's way better at it than I am and there isn't really a good counterpoint since he was just spanking me hours ago. He's always fucking right. It's kind of annoying. "I don't, Papa," I sigh.

"So we agree then?"

"Yes, sir." Even though I want him to let me do it anyway.

"I used to hate it when my father said this, but you'll understand when you're a parent Dean. I have to make the decision I think is best for you even if it's not the fun one. It's because I love you so much."

How do you be mad at that? "I love you too Papa."

~DM~

It's only nine, but it's too late to go anywhere on a school night (even without the early curfew) and I feel like I've got all these problems I have to solve. The easiest solution would be to cancel the double date for Friday, since it's not really planned yet, but I don't want to let Brad or Kelsey down.

Michael's already mad at me, so what else is new? I decide he's the one I'm going to try to get out of seeing. I'll make it up to him with good head, in the back of Babylon on Saturday. But text or call?

He doesn't seem to want to fucking talk to me anyway, so I text: _Dal's in town. It's his concert Friday night._

I stare at that because I don't know how the fuck to word it. It's a little late for 'asking' now. But I don't even know how it turned into that. It was a run by thing. I decide to try and reinstate that. I change my message to" _Dal's in town. He's getting me tickets to his concert. Will you or Tom be around so I can go?"_

Yeah. That sounds good. I press send.

There's no answer, so I decide to slip into my pajamas and brush my teeth. I'll probably go have a cup of tea with Daddy before I actually go to bed.

I hear my phone on the bed. My tummy squirms a bit. What's he going to say?

I'm a bit fucking relived when it's Brad. _Kelsey and Ryan are in for Friday. Dinner?_

Fuck. And I know, I know. It's your own fault Dean Winchester. No one feels sorry for you.

I'm about to text Brad back when I get Michael's text. I can almost hear his voice tell me: _Oh, we'll both be around. And you're still not going._

And I shit you not, I'm about to text him to fuck off. I take a breath and remember my 'chat' with Papa earlier. I try to send him a reasonable message back. _Why the fuck not?_

I get an unreasonable message back: _Because I said so._

In the past I would have text him back that I don't have to do what he fucking says, but it's different now. Not for the first time, I find our relationship confusing and I'm not sure what the right thing to do is.

But when it crosses my mind to talk to Daddy about this, the confusion clears, because I'm pretty sure I know what he'd do. He wouldn't have got himself in this situation in the first place, because he never would have lipped off to Papa. But _if_ he did, he would apologize profusely. I'm just not quite there with this yet.

Okay, fuck. I'd better call Michael at least.

I phone and I'm surprised when he picks up. "Oh, not too busy to accept phone calls from me, just to fucking _see_ me?" Okay, guess I'm still not over that like I thought I was.

"I knew you were having a temper tantrum over that."

He still sounds fucking beaten, which softens me a little, but fuck him. I don't care if he chucks soup at my head. I want to take care of him.

But thinking of that conversation with Papa, I try to use my nice words and try not to be a moody teenager. "I'm sorry. I over reacted, but you're fucking hurt—how would you feel if you couldn't take care of me?"

"That's different."

I sigh. Like Papa explained I'll bet. They're both stubborn asses when they're unwell. "I want to come see you."

"You can't. I said Friday, Dean."

"I'm busy Friday. Uncle Dal—"

"Your Uncle Dal used to sing to you on a daily basis. You'll live if you miss one of his concerts. I said you're not going, so you're not going."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"I don't actually. The rule was I 'run things by you,' not ask you permission. I don't need your permission to go out Michael."

"Did you run it by me before you made the plans?"

Fuck. "Well, no, but—"

"You broke the rule."

"Can't you just fucking spank me?" I say since there is no counter to that.

"No. I already allowed this to go once and I shouldn't have."

He's really not going to fucking budge on this. "Please Michael. I'd really like to go." That's all I've fucking got at this point.

"Hmmm…that's a funny way to say, yes, sir."

He's well enough to be fucking sarcastic. "Well I don't think it's fair. I've never agreed to you dictating where I go and when we hang out. That's what made me angry in the first place."

"It was a text message Dean. I didn't mean it how it sounded, I'm fucking…" he huffs. "I'm not well. I wasn't dictating we hang out Friday, it was meant to be a suggestion. You were the one telling me you were busy with already made plans, which you never ran by me. That's why you're not going out Friday night. If you don't want to see me, that's fine, but you're still grounded. Now unless you want to also be grounded Saturday, I suggest you stop arguing with me."

I don't know why, but I'm still pissed…and maybe a little turned on. He's right. He's absolutely right. He's known me too long and completely had my fucking number all day. It's turned into one of those situations where I really wish I had kept a lid on my temper, because I'd really like to go out Friday.

I'm mad at my fucking self.

He's waiting for an answer, but I'm still getting over the shock of the _way_ he's so succinctly laid down the law for me. All I can bring myself to say is, "fine."

"Thank-you Dean. I'd really like to see you Friday."

The truth is, I'd really fucking like to see him too. I want to see him right now. I was just, okay, I was just throwing a fit. That's what this was all about anyway. I think. I just want to be with him; it hurts when I'm not with him. "Apparently I'm grounded."

I can hear him smiling through the phone. "You may come to my place."

He can't see me, but I'm blushing like fucking crazy. "Okay."

"I'll see you after school Friday. You come straight here young man," he teases. "Don't wear underwear. I want to fuck your brains out."

Fuck. Now I'm horny. "Right after school."

His voice is soft when he says, "goodnight my duckling."

It occurs to me I don't have anything to call him, so I just say goodnight.

~DM~

Daddy's still baking pies when I go downstairs. He's going to be in so much trouble when Papa finds out. Just sitting in the kitchen I feel like an accomplice. But I've got a mug of tea before me and I'm hoping Papa will see I'm just talking to him. He's the one who told me to seek out conversation for topics such as my complicated teenage life. I pour my heart out to him as usual telling him everything I've done. I get looks of disapproval, but he seems satisfied with the way I handled things in the end. There's a nice summer breeze coming in the open, sliding kitchen door as it cools off for night time.

"I still want to go though, do you have any mind changing tricks?"

"Sorry, baby. I'm not a Jedi. It's not always easy, I know."

"Like when you think you still need to bake ten more pies, and Papa thinks you should take break and wait 'till tomorrow?"

"I'm not breaking any rules right now," he says defensively.

"Do we need to have a talk about trying to skirt the rules on technicalities, young man?" I say. He laughs at me.

"Your father doesn't understand just how much we need to get done—we're hosting the meal this year too. I have to get started on that."

I realize that maybe I haven't been around to help Daddy as much as I should be. He's got to be really stressed to even think about trying to pull that one with Father. "You know Daddy, how about I stay home Saturday and help you make the food for the fundraiser? I bet I can even make Michael help us."

"Oh Dean baby, we're all square. You're helping me bake all week, you don't have to do that too."

"I want to. No strings attached," I wink. I don't want him thinking I'm trying to get out of something. To prove my point I get up and help him wrap the finished pies in freezer paper. If he's going down with this ship when Papa finds out, so am I.

"Thanks Dean Bean. I'd really appreciate the help."

I help him a while and he looks to be thinking about something 'till he finally says, "have you made any rules yet, Dean?"

Well, just the stupid no kissing on the lips thing, which I broke. I'm fucking terrible at this. "Not really, Daddy."

"You ought to. Make something that will help Michael and he'll ease off of you."

I'm about to ask him, 'like what?' 'cause I'm not really sure what he means by that, but I don't get the chance.

"Samuel. I hope I'm not going to find you in the kitchen still baking," Papa says as he approaches the kitchen.

Daddy looks at me for help. "Run, Daddy."

He escapes out of the open, sliding kitchen door, just in time for Papa to come around. "Hi, Papa," I say innocently.

"You expect me to believe you've been in here doing that all by yourself? Which way did he go?"

"I don't know who you're talking about Papa," I say smiling.

He knows. We're not going to pull the wool over his eyes. We're just having fun.

"Fine. I'll find him myself. You're going up to bed."

"Yes, Papa." I try not to laugh.

"Night, son."


	11. Pickling Wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry you don't get to see 'Friday' in this chapter. I know some were awaiting it, and I was too, but, well this is how the cookie crumbled this time. But I've got a surprise for you next chapter. *walks away whistling*
> 
> This chapter is meant to be fun. Don't take Cas and Sam's arguing too seriously. It's meant for laughing. Even the 'Dean in the middle' parts. I thought we could use a little angst break. This chapter has a LOW angst rating. 
> 
> I don't know if we're ever going to get to fucking Texas. A lot still has to happen. I'm going to try to wrap it up in two more chapters. I won't make you wait too long for the next chapter. It's already started ;-) Happy reading.

TUESDAY

I have to disappoint Brad as my first act on Tuesday morning and it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. "So here's the thing, I can't go out Friday. I have to see Michael—remember I said this would happen?" I add already defensive and so not owning up to my assholery in this.

To make matters worse, he's so fucking nice about it. "You did. Don't worry about it, baby. I'll smooth things over with Kelsey and Ryan. But do you happen to have a replacement day for me? It'll make it easier."

"Yes, uh, better to do it next week. It's crazy at my house right now with this fundraiser on the horizon. I'll have you a date by the end of today." I hope. I have to run it by Michael and actually this is more fucking annoying than I thought it would be. It's going to be number one on the list of things we need to talk about Friday. "That okay? I'm really sorry."

"Don't think twice about it."

"I'll make sure this date's solid," I promise.

He walks me to class and when I'm there, I stealthily text Michael as Hannah watches me out of the corner of her eye laughing, probably hoping I get caught, but I don't. I write to Michael: _Am I good to make plans, for any night next week?"_

I get a response almost right away. _What kind of plans?_

Now it depends on _what_ I'm doing? I want to complain, but I also don't feel like fucking fighting and have him say no, but I'm really fucking pissed, but I'm…but…but…ah! I take a deep breath and remember some of the things Father said to me yesterday. How would a responsible person handle this? Daddy comes to mind; not Daddy of lately, but regular Daddy. I think I know what he'd say back.

_Dinner plans with friends._

I press send and wait for a response. Hannah fucking throws a note at me when our teacher's back is turned. I unfold the crumpled paper to see her really bad rendition of James Hetfield with an officer badge. I shake my head at her, she's really not going to let that go, is she? and feel my phone vibrate.

 _Is Brad one of those friends?_ I want to tell him to fuck off so fucking bad right now. I should get a medal for my restraint today.

 _Yes, sir._ That ought to get me fucking brownie points. It doesn't.

 _Do not patronize me, Winchester. Fine. Any day next week is fine._ Michael usually only calls me 'Winchester' when he's particularly annoyed with me. He's probably in a bad fucking mood. Everyone is these days.

I decide to carry on my 'good behavior.' _Thank you, baby._ It's really hard though. I already mentioned the medal, but I should probably also get, like a Nobel prize or something.

I text Brad it's a go and I get a little heart emoticon back from him, which I stare at for too long. "Mr. Winchester, put your phone away now. If I see it again, you can stay after school."

"Yes, Mr. Kostamo."

Hannah quietly laughs her ass off at me.

~DM~

It's lunchtime and I have to tell Hannah for the third time why we have to hang out with Brad and his people, in a way that doesn't let on how much I'm crushing on Brad. It's hopeless, so I finally just tell her, "I fucking like Brad okay? Can't you do me a solid and find a football player to fuck for a little while?"

Hannah is ridiculously cool, which is why we're such good friends. She's exactly the right amounts man and woman. She smiles slyly, "okay, Sugar," she says trying to imitate me.

I'm ridiculously happy to see him. I smile and grab his hand. "How was class, babe?"

"Good. You kick some ass in your smart people classes?"

"Yeah, I think so." I suddenly realize I have no moves beyond things that lead to sex. I stare at him dumbly waiting for him to lead.

"C'mon brainiac. Let's go eat lunch. You comin' with us Sugar?" he says to Hannah.

Her eyes are clearly saying something along the lines of 'you _so_ owe me Winchester,' but she says, "lead the way cowboy."

We end up outside with some of Brad's football team, and their jackets.

"Okay, I gotta know, what did your daddy pack for you today?"

That makes me laugh. "Allow me to introduce you to the Dean Salad."

"Dean actually eats salad?"

"Not really, but this has enough meat in it, it hardly feels like I'm eating vegetables. And not to worry, there are sufficient carbs provided." I show him the soft, buttered bread Daddy gets fresh delivered sometimes.

"You are spoiled rotten."

I almost tell him Papa spanked me yesterday, in defense of that, but maybe it's still too soon. I do wonder what he would think of that. We've talked about that kind of stuff briefly, but I've never told him about an actual punishment I've received.

When I'm done with lunch, I lay my head in his lap, and spend the rest of the hour listening to their football nonsense, while Hannah makes out with Rick.

It's a pretty great day. Brad asks if he can pick me up for school tomorrow, since he's coming over anyway; I say yes. I go home and help Daddy put together pies we wrap in freezer paper unbaked.

Dinner is super tense between Daddy and Papa. "You're done for the night, Samuel."

Daddy balls his fists. "It's pretty early to pack it in."

"Are you arguing with me, Samuel?"

"No, sir. Can Dean—"

"No."

Daddy shovels food into his mouth, to stop himself from saying something stupid. It works for a little while. I'm pretty quiet myself. They're both irritated. It's not often my parents are at odds and it's fucking weird for me. I don't even wait to see if there's dessert. "May I please be excused, Father?"

"Is all your homework done?"

"I don't have any homework, sir."

"But you do have exams. I expect you to clock at least two hours before bed, Dean, which is at ten o'clock tonight. You've been climbing into bed way too late for someone who's in the middle of writing exams."

Fuck. It looks like Papa's bad mood extends to me, but you do not complain with that voice. I do feel like saying, 'thanks a lot, Daddy.' He's the reason Papa's on a rampage. Instead I say the only thing that won't get me grounded. "Yes, sir."

"All right. You're excused."

I get the fuck out of dodge, fast.

I do crack my books when I'm upstairs, but just so when Papa checks on me, it appears as if I've been studying hard. I pull out my phone to call Uncle Dal. "Hey, Dally."

"Hey there Half Pint! Good to hear from you."

"You might not think, so in a second."

I detail for him, Cole's notes style, what's been happening the past couple weeks and realize it's been a lot longer than usual since the last time I talked to him. Even when he's on tour we find time to Skype or Face time. Man. My teenage life has really taken off, so full of drama I'm losing touch with people. I haven't even chatted with any of my cousins in a while.

By the time I'm done, Uncle Dal is laughing his ass off at me. "Only you, half pint. You'd better listen to Michael. Besides, he's right, you've heard me sing often enough."

"I know, but I wanted to go, Uncle Dal."

"Not to worry, Half pint, I'll be singing lots at Nana and Granddaddy Colt's. All the kids'll make me," he chuckles. "But I was hoping I could see you before we leave. You free anytime before then?"

I make plans with Uncle Dal for next week, since Michael's said I'm free to make plans any day next week. He reminds me to 'be good, y'hear?'

"Yes, Uncle Dallas." I get off the phone just in time; Papa's knocking on my door. I make sure it looks like I've been reading something as I'm telling him to come in.

"Hey, Papa."

"How's the studying?"

"Fantastic," I lie.

He looks at me skeptically, fuck, am I biting my stupid lip again? I check. Yep. I don't think Papa quite knows about that, but it's enough to make him question me. In any case, he lets it go. "Okay, another hour. Then how about come down and watch a movie with your daddy and me?"

That does not sound fun. It'll be me in the middle, buffering the tension between my two parents, but I can tell it's not really a suggestion. Papa's gone into that mode of his where he's strictly monitoring and dictating the goings on of his household and it's all Daddy's fault. "Sure, Papa."

I'm right by the way. Daddy's sulkily sitting on the couch when I come down and Papa's on the other side looking irritated. I try to think of a joke to lighten the tone of the hour and not get me in trouble, but nothing comes to mind. I settle for sitting beside Daddy and cuddling him. Fuck you, I'm never too old. He's appreciative and squeezes me tight, kissing my crown.

Papa sends us both to bed at ten and I'm actually kinda glad. I am fucking tired. I get a goodnight text from Brad, but nothing from Michael. I feel half happy and half fucking dejected. Maybe I should send Michael something? _Duckling says goodnight._

I look at it before I press send. Maybe it's too much. Will it freak him the fuck out? I close my eyes and fucking send it. I have to wait 'till I've brushed my teeth and am climbing into bed before I get something back, but I do fucking get something back.

_Are you wearing pajamas?_

I laugh quietly. _Of course._

_Have you whacked off yet?_

_Five times_ I tease. _Four times to you, once to Zac Efron._

Michael and I share mutual affections for Zac. He's our older man crush we'd threesome with.

_Acceptable. Sounds like you're ready for dreams. Night my duckling._

_Night Michael._

~WEDNESDAY~

"You need help, Sam. It's too much for one person."

"I've got Dean helping me."

"It's too much for two people."

"Bradley is going to help us, today. Isn't he Dean Bean? Tell your papa."

My parents are still at odds the next morning, even though it's obvious Daddy's been spanked, since we can both tell he's avoiding sitting at all costs. Thankfully, it's about as much as my parents ever fight. For them there is no such thing as fighting, because Daddy does what Papa says. End of story. That's the way it's always been since I can remember. But this situation is different. This is one of those areas with Daddy you just don't fuck with and Papa knows it.

Sure Papa can do things to help Daddy, like spankings, and making little rules that force him to take breaks, but if he puts an end to it and makes him get it catered, it will insult and upset him. It'll end up in fucking tears and Papa fucking hates that, so he has to tread carefully.

But Papa's irritated. Normally Daddy would do anything to ease Papa's irritation, but today, his jarred beans are more important.

Thankfully Papa cuts me off before I have to answer that. "If you won't listen to me, listen to our son. Dean, tell your daddy he's being crazy."

Okay, that's not fucking better. I don't want to answer that either. "Um…" Why is Papa trying to get me murdered?

"Don't you say a word Dean Daniel, unless it's to tell your papa to stop worrying about me. I've got everything under control."

Yeah, I'm not suicidal either Daddy. My phone buzzes and I don’t have to check to know who that is. "My ride's here! Gotta go."

"Ride?" they both say at the same time.

"Yeah. Didn't I mention? Brad's picking me up for school since he's coming here after anyway."

Before they can fucking digest that, I'm out, grabbing my lunch bag off the counter as I go.

Brad's waiting for me by the passenger side door to open it like a gentleman; he takes my bags and I climb inside, of course it smells fresh of Brad's cologne. "Hey Gorgeous," he says.

"Hey. Fuck, this morning you're my white knight. Daddy's crazy and Papa worries about him too much." Just because I wasn't saying it to them, doesn't mean it's not true.

"I'll be your white knight any day, Sugar," he says climbing in and kissing me. Fuck am I horny. I haven't had sex in like, whoa, I think today is day number four.

"Well I got something else you can save me from."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"It's a disease that usually afflicts married men," unless you're my fucking parents. Those two are probably fucking, _fucking_ right now. "My balls are blue dude. I'm going to fuck something and I'd rather it be you." Hell, I'll take some fucking not-sex at this point.

He thinks I'm funny. "Why didn't you just say so? You got a spare block this morning right? No more calculus?"

"That's right."

"I can be late to mine. It's just gym."

"Giddy up, Cowboy!" No we don't have sex-sex, but he gives me a blow job that's a pretty close second to what I'm sure sitting on that giant cock would be like. I get to school in a fantastic mood and look forward to snuggling with him at lunch

~Meanwhile, Back at Casa de Winchester~

Dean grabs his lunch bag off the counter and gets out of dodge. Cas puts his paper down and I brace myself, preparing to run if need be; he slowly approaches me like you have to approach a fly. You gotta go slow with those things then just strike at the last second; or they're gone and buzzing in your ear all night.

"Your ass must not be sore enough, Baby."

Oh it's sore all right. I can't fudging sit down, I really don't want another spanking. "Now Cassy, I'm not trying to be disrespectful, I'm just trying to get things done. Don't you have to go to work?"

"This year you've got more responsibility than usual."

He's only said that like a gazillion times.

"I know, but I can get it done." Which I've already said a gazillion times.

"I know you can."

He takes another step closer; I take a step back. "I promised you I'd ask for help if I needed it, but really, I've got it all under control. Don’t you trust me?"

"Not when you get like this."

"I'll call Dal. How's that?" I originally didn't want to bother Dal, since he's got his show on Friday night to prepare for. I did ask some of our friends, but they're all busy and there's just no fudging way I'm having this thing catered. Not for our church. It should be good, home-style, country cooking. I could really use a crew of Colts.

Cas thinks about it. "Okay. If you call Dallas I'll relax. What about the other people making things for this? They can't help you out?"

"That wouldn't be fair Cas. Each of them has already been assigned their task. They don't ask me for extra help when it's their turn to host the meal."

"They probably get it catered," he mumbles, but I hear him.

"Have you got something to say Castiel Grace?"

"Nu-uh. No, ma'am," he denies. "But you'll call Dallas, at least?"

"I already said I would."

He nods and thankfully doesn't add a 'when' I need to call Dally by.

Thinking that concludes our conversation, which is as close to an argument as Cas and I get, I relax and let down my guard; he pounces; I run.

"Samuel. Get back here now."

Just because I agree I likely deserve a spanking for my behavior, doesn't mean I want it. He's already given me two and believe me when I say neither were pleasant. "I'm going to call Dally, I swear Cassy," I say diving over the couch and using it as protection from my husband. "Shouldn't you be getting to work?" I remind him in case he forgot.

"I have time enough for this. Come here please," he says still calm and cool. Cas has gotten really good at that over the years.

"Cas, please. I don't want another spanking. I'll behave."

"That's not for you to decide." He just glowers at me until I cave. I reluctantly make my way out from behind the couch, he doesn't waste any time divesting me of my jeans and boxers and I'm over his lap. "Wow. This is red Sam. Brace yourself."

He isn't gentle when he lays down at least two dozen firm swats on my already sore bottom, then begins rubbing smoothly over some of the raised welts there. "I have no illusions that this will stop any of your nonsense, but I hope it will remind you who is in charge in our home. You'd better call your brother, or I have a lap cane with your name on it."

"Yes, sir."

He's still rubbing and I can feel his hardness beneath me. "This looks hot, Sam. Fuck. I want to fuck you Baby. Can I?"

Can he? He knows better. He's just been all big bad alpha, plus he's spanked me, of course he can. My cock is just as hard as his most likely is right now. It must be really red back there for him to feel he has to ask. "Please, Cassy."

We suddenly become frenzied. I can't get his clothes off fast enough and he can't get far enough inside my mouth with his tongue. We're rough. The tension of the past few days has been building, a lot's happened and we've been dealing with it, but we've also been bickering, (for us) and we've got pent up energy to cast off. I've got his pants off, he's still in his white dress shirt and tie. I've stepped out of my jeans and boxers long ago, he slams me into the wall; I let him.

Cas is powerful. He's shown that many times over, but I'm still bigger. If I wanted to, I could have him laid out flat, but I don't. I want him to own me, possess me; fuck my red hot ass.

He grabs my leg and puts it around him, kissing me, bruising my lips, he slams me into the wall again. With my leg wrapped how it is, he can spin me. He kicks my other foot out from under me and takes me to the floor judo style. He brings my arms up overhead, holds them there and shoves his cock into my mouth. I suck. And suck. And swirl my tongue around the head. And suck.

I can feel him come close, but then he pulls away. He doesn't ask, instead he manhandles me, flipping me over and lands a decent smack on my poor ass. " _Fuck_ , Cassy."

"That's what I want to hear, Baby." Seemingly from nowhere, he's got lube and before long his cock is inside of me. His thrusts are hard and his balls slap, heavy at my ass just enough to play with the raw skin there and send an excited tingle to my groin. I'm moaning and writhing on his cock. I'll say fuck as many times as he wants so long as he keeps brushing his cock over my prostate like that.

"Fuck, please Cas."

My muscles clench then I explode, my cock spewing all over the carpet, while Cas goes off inside of me. He slumps over top of my back, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into a spoon, his cock still inside of me. He's panting when he says, "the only good that has come from that damn fundraiser this year is the crazy sex."

"We always have crazy sex."

"Not like that, that was…wow. Least I know I can look forward to that all week. I remember well the last time we hosted and this time is much worse."

"I don't think I can take anymore spankings—I'll behave Cassy."

"I know you'd really like to, but this is a losing battle. When a Colt gets it in his head to have a party—"

"It's not my party. I'm head of the committee and it was my turn to host, I couldn't say, no Cas."

"Like I said. At least we'll have lots of sex like that."

"I really am sorry, Cas. I don't mean to be so stubborn."

"Least we know our son comes by it honestly."

"I think he really likes, Brad, Cas," I say changing the subject. "I'm not sure what to think about it."

"Teenagers are fickle Baby. They're in love one minute and not the next."

"I know, but we weren't. Dean's a lot like us. Someone's going to get hurt."

"Probably, but I think that's part of being a teenager too. As long as it's not angels and demons, god Sam, I can nurse Dean through a broken heart, but…"

But there's not much we can do about angels and demons. "I think Michael's working on something, Cas. He didn't say, I don't think he can, but he's just as worried as we are."

"I don't want him to be a Hunter again, Sam. I, I don't know if I can give my blessing. I know I promised him I would when he turned twenty-one, but now that we're almost there…I think about it everyday."

"We've got a bit of time, Cassy. You know as well as I do he's not going to pass the evaluation, they're not going to let him be eighteen."

"I think Dean's going to be pissed about that."

"I think he'll be fine, so long as he gets to graduate with Hannah."

"I know Baby, but he's on the border. If it were just the doctor saying no, he'd be fine with that, but you know the doctor's going to ask us, which means me and I'm going to have to tell him the truth. If I say no Dean will—"

"Dean will know you're doing what's best for him. Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Cowboy. The school already agreed he's kept up enough to move onto the next grade. Our baby boy's got straight A's this term Cas."

Cas smiles. "Okay, okay. I'm worrying too much as usual."

"S'okay, Cassy. It's just because you love us so much."

"I was talking about Dean. I'm worried the exact right amount about you."

I disagree, but I don't say so.

"You know, Baby, I don't really have anything at work I _have_ to do 'till eleven. We could?" he says toying with my cock.

And we do; two more times.

~LATER~

I make the mistake of screeching that we're home across the house. Papa's supposed to be at work, but apparently he came home early to keep an eye on Daddy. "Dean," Papa says. "Send Bradley to the kitchen, I'd like to speak with you please."

Fuck. He's in the living room. "Uh, meet you there?" I say checking he knows the way.

He smiles knowing I'm likely about to get scolded. "See you there, Sugar." He gives me a peck on the cheek.

I enter the living room and Papa pauses the movie he's watching. It was only one of my names, so I'm not too worried, but I begin with an apology. "Sorry for screeching, Papa."

"Ah. So you do understand English. We don't live in a barn."

"Does that mean I can screech in a barn?"

"Dean."

"Sorry, Papa. I won't do it again."

"I'd believe you if this wasn't the seventeenth time I've told you, but that's not the only reason I called you in here. I need to ask you a favor."

Oh here we go. "You want me to keep an eye on Daddy," I say. It's not a question.

"Just, see if you can get him to let more people help."

"He's willing to Papa, but everyone's busy."

He stares at me until I get his meaning. He wants me to convince Daddy to get it catered.

"Aw, Papa. That's suicide! You want to lose your only son?"

"If it comes from me he'll cry, I'm incapable of not just telling him the way it's going to be. You two are alike. You can coax him better than I can."

"It's a bad idea, Papa."

"Him driving himself insane over this is a bad idea," he says sounding kinda pissed.

Whoa, he's not a happy camper. "I'll do my best Papa."

"See that you do."

Why do I have a bad feeling this is going to end bad for the one Dean Winchester?

I head into the kitchen where Brad is making small talk with Daddy. He's new, so he's safe, I try to sneak over to my apron so I can get started. I mean he'll see me eventually, but if he sees me working it's a whole lot better. "Dean," he says sharply, I wince. "Quit lollygagging and get to work, Sur. We've been waitin' on y'all in here."

Crap. Daddy's accent's back. That's not always a good thing. I don't tell him Papa wanted to see me. Either I'll have to explain why, or he'll assume I was in trouble and apparently I can't lie my way out of situations with him; I'd rather not have to rat Papa out.

I go with a simple, "yes, sir," and start rinsing out the jars Daddy has laid out. He's already got water boiling with some jars on the go inside the big pot.

"It'd be real helpful, Bradley if you'd bring those two boxes of pickled beans out to the truck in the driveway," he says, still in 'Texan' and I don't like the sound of what he's asked Brad to do—that means we'll be alone.

Soon as he's carting boxes away, he rounds on me. "Hi, Daddy," I say as charming as I can and I finally get a good look at him. Papa's right, he's stressing over this way too much, there are fucking dark circles around his eyes; he looks frazzled.

"Dean, baby, I need your help. Your father's driving me up the wall."

Aw, fuck.

I laugh at him with my 'and just want do you expect me to do about it laugh,' until I realize he's serious. "Daddy, I thought you loved me. You want to lose your only son?" I try my line again.

"Don't be such a drama queen. Papa won't murder you. In fact, you get away with murder around here."

"Um, I was getting spanked just two days ago."

"You want to compare?" he says clearly knowing he's probably got the redder ass and all I can think is that I am _not_ having this conversation with my daddy. I'll do anything to get out of this conversation.

"No, sir. Uh-uh. What you need me to do?"

"Just, you know casually work into a conversation that he's being unusually overbearing."

"He's not being that overbearing, Daddy, maybe you should—"

"Are you taking his side?" he says hurt.

"Um, I mean, overbearing, got that. Anything else?"

"I suppose that word is a little harsh. Maybe say overprotective and assure him we've got everything under control."

"Yes, Daddy."

Thank God Brad comes back after that. "Anymore boxes Mr. Winchester?"

"Not yet, but Dean'll show y'all how to pickle the beans, it's real easy. I've got to go over this list for the food."

"Here babe," I say handing him a spare apron, giddy at the thought of him putting it on. "Don't want to get that nice shirt full of brine."

"I could just take my shirt off, Sugar," he teases, but he puts the apron on and holy fuck I like it.

"You look hot in an apron. Maybe you can be my housewife," I say without thinking following our line of make believe house we apparently play sometimes.

He pulls me to him and pushes my hair back off my forehead, planting a kiss there. I smile stupidly.

"Hey, you two. Less googly eyes and more pickling," Daddy says and I fucking blush. I kinda forgot he was there.

"Sorry, Daddy," I say as we both burst out laughing. "Okay, jarring," I begin. I put Brad in charge of boiling the jars. Daddy's got everything laid out for us, he must have been at this all day already, no wonder Papa's worried about him. As Brad fishes hot, sterilized jars out of the boiling water, I fill them with beans, brine, garlic, chili pepper flakes, fresh dill and peppercorns. Next the lids go on and I pass them back to Brad so he can put them back in the boiling water. We work quickly, so I can get all the jars filled and in the water fast enough that the first jar hasn't been in there too long. When that's done, we set the timer for ten minutes and work on the next pot of jars Daddy already has boiling.

Once our system becomes a bit mindless, we start chit-chatting and goofing around a bit, getting scolded by Daddy ever time he comes back in the room since he's been in and out working on his list and making phone calls. "If I end up with soggy beans Dean Daniel Jonathan…"

This pickling has turned into a thankless job, but at least I've got Brad here to make it fun. Every time I get scolded by Daddy, we burst out in giggles when he leaves the room. Brad laughs especially hard when I mimic him.

On one of his passes back to the kitchen, I chance to ask him, "hey maybe Uncle Dal can help us Saturday and Sunday?"

I get a glare for my troubles. "Your uncle Dally is busy, he doesn't need us pestering him, but I'll mention it. You just do as you're told Dean Daniel and stay out of it."

Whoa. Except I am doing what I was _told_ by Papa. But can't tell him that, so I shut up and don't point out that I thought he wanted me 'into it' too, since he asked me to talk to Papa. It doesn't take a genius to figure out Papa's probably asked him to call Dal, or something along the lines of that, he agreed even though he didn't want to and now he's trying to figure out how to get everything done faster, so he can say he didn't need him.

"Yes, sir. How many jars we got left?"

"I did quite a few today, so I dunno…six hundred?"

"Six hundred? Daddy, our garden doesn't even grow that many beans."

"I've got more coming, I ordered them today."

Jesus Christ. Daddy has lost it. I'll bet dollars to doughnuts Papa doesn't know about this. "We've never done that many, Daddy."

"This is going to be the biggest fundraiser yet," he smiles and I can't turn down that fucking smile, but I have to say it.

"It's already pretty big."

"You're staring to sound like your papa."

Man is he fucking touchy. I leave it at that, before I get in trouble. When he's out of the kitchen again, Brad laughs at me again. "Whoa, he's a wild horse."

"Fucking tell me about it," I say quietly so Daddy doesn't hear me swearing. That's all I need. "Didn't I tell you?"

"What's the problem, sweets? Maybe I can help."

"I doubt it. Unless you happen to have a crew of Colts in your back pocket?"

"A what?"

I laugh and fill him in, in more detail with what's been going on with the fundraiser and consequently what each of my parents have asked of me.

"Why didn't he start all of this earlier if he was planning to do so much?"

"I don't think he was. This is a Colt phenomenon. I think he came up with a million jars of beans and whatever else he's got on that list recently."

Brad shakes his head. "I hate to say it, but you're screwed, baby."

I slap his large shoulder. "Ass."

He laughs hard. "Leave it with me, maybe I'll come up with something."

"Catch your own pass and score a touchdown?" I tease.

"You makin' fun 'a my football analogies?" He grabs me and pulls me to his broad chest backwards and starts fucking tickling me.

"Babe…babe… _babe stop_ …" Fuck. So embarrassing, I'm so fucking ticklish. I'm about to beg for mercy, but I don't need to; Brad freezes. Did Daddy just walk back in? I turn around and, fucking fuck it's not Daddy…how much did he see? I pull away from Brad like we were just doing something naughty.

"Michael? What are you doing here? You knew we—"

"I knew you had a date with football boy. I allowed it, remember? I'm not here to see you anyway, but I thought I'd say, hi." Michael's arm, the one he was favoring through dinner on Sunday night is in a nylon sling. I decide to leave that for that moment, but of course I'm fucking worried about him; I'm slightly more pissed at the moment, since the rest of him appears good as new, he's just…tired looking.

"You can't see me 'till Friday, but figures you've got a date with Papa." I pause my Michael scolding to hand Brad the tongs and without words, he knows it's time to take the jars out according to our well devised system.

Michael's glaring at us in our aprons. "Well, isn't this the sight of domestication? When should I expect an invite to the wedding?"

"Okay Michael, enough. Babe, you mind taking over a minute?"

"No problem, Sugar," he says then he fucking kisses me on the lips, right in front of Michael, staking his own claim on me. And I'm officially the prize in a fucking male pissing contest.

Which I gotta admit, is kinda fun, I just don't feel like having to explain to my daddy why there's blood all over his kitchen, especially with the mood he's in, so I drag Michael out the sliding kitchen door and around the side of the house pretty quick. "What the fuck Michael?"

Even with one arm, he's still able to push me into the wall, his lips are on me, where Brad's just were, and he's kissing the life out of me. I can't even fucking help myself; I kiss him back like my life depends on it, like I can't get enough of him; there never seems to be enough Michael. But this just isn't right for so many reasons; at the top of that list being I'm technically on a date with Brad. Michael's fucking date crashing.

When he's done with me and I'm boneless; reminded thoroughly why I've agreed to fucking follow _rules_ he makes for me, he releases me smiling smugly. He owns me, he knows I know it. I'm panting.

"Babe?" he says a bit disgusted. "We've been together how long and I've never been given a nickname. In fact, you had more nicknames for me when we weren't together."

"So we're 'together' now? I thought you weren't into labeling?"

"You know what I mean."

I'm not getting into that right now. "Do you need a nickname that badly?"

"Well don't trouble yourself for lil' ol' me."

"Right now, the name asshole is coming to mind. What happened to your arm?"

"This is a result from the other night. If I'd have been a human, I would have lost this arm, but as is, it will just take a little longer to heal. I'll be good as new for Friday. I'm sure your ass will need a good tanning by then."

Fuck him. He knows how much that turns me on, but I try not to let it show and just shake my head at him. "You should go have your meeting with my father. I'm with Brad today; remember what you said about it being my fault if I stopped by and you were with someone? Same goes for you. I know you don't like him."

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I like Brad fine."

Right.

"Matter of fact, rumor has it you and Sam could use some help. I think I should offer my assistance. Spend some time with my good friend, Brad."

"What can you do with one hand Michael?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Go home, Michael. I'll see you Friday."

I don't mean that in a harsh way, but he takes great offence to it. I've pissed him off. "I'll stay as long as I want. I've just as much right to be here as you do, I was at the Winchester induction ceremony, not to mention I've spent the better half of my existence here. Go play with your boyfriend. I'll be back after I talk with Papa Winchester."

"Fuck. Michael!"

But he's already storming into the house. Brad glares at him as Michael walks by doing the same, Daddy walks in the door just in time for Michael to storm out of the kitchen without even a hello. Now Daddy's glaring at Michael and I'm pretty sure he's going to get told off later. Daddy's already in a bad mood.

"What's going on, Sur?"

"Why are you Suring me? I didn't do anything. He's the jerk. He showed up and now he's pissed. Apparently he has to talk to Papa."

He doesn't look satisfied with that explanation, though I don’t understand why; it's the fucking truth. "You and I will be talking later. For now, why don't you two go have your dinner break?" he suggests probably wanting to talk to Michael alone. Hopefully he'll evict him. "You've got lots done."

I still don't see why I'm in trouble, but I'm more worried about the beans. I think I'm becoming slightly obsessed with them—mostly because I'm concerned about Daddy if we don't get them done. "But we've got like six millions more, Daddy. We're never going to get this done. I think we should eat here."

"We've got plenty of time, Dean Bean. We've got the rest of tonight and tomorrow, and Friday."

Fucking Friday. I might have to tell Michael to come here. Our fuck-a-thon might be cancelled. "Okay, Daddy if you're sure." But I do see what Papa means. Daddy has gone to a crazy place. I mean seven hundred jars of beans? We don't need seven hundred jars of beans. I know he's already got twenty pre-baked pies and two hundred unbaked frozen pies stored the Lord knows where, 'cause we don't have _that_ much freezer space.

I'm glad to get out of here and I know Brad is too.

~DM~

"I apologize for my earlier behavior, sir. I was rude to you and it was uncalled for," Michael wisely begins with an apology when he returns from speaking with Cas.

"Thank-you. But what exactly are you doing here, Sur? If you're just here to 'cause trouble…"

"I had to see him. This has been the first opportunity I've had—Father's kept me busy, I really thought it wouldn't be 'till Friday, but then I came up with this spare little chunk of time. In came in pretty handy that Papa Winchester has been wanting to speak with me. I didn't think it would be such a big deal seeing Dean with… _him_."

I can't imagine him doing anything in his state.

"Don't look at me like that. It wasn't anything major. Mostly him just making sure I'm still going to be his obedient, devoted, little boy after this most recent beating. He bought me a Ducati to make amends," he says disgusted. "Though I think Dean's going to love it."

"Dean isn't riding on that thing."

"Well not alone. I'd be driving. There's no way I'd get into an accident, angel, remember?"

"Still no, Michael."

"All right. But you're breaking the news to him."

"Gladly. So what did happen?"

I can tell he doesn't want to say, but he does anyway. "I think the correct human term is 'jealous,' I got jealous and lost my temper. Dean was angry with me, but I was angry with him too. He kicked _me_ out."

"You never seemed to get 'jealous' before."

"I know, but this is different. Dean likes him. A lot."

I can't argue that. "Michael, I think, I think you're right. He really likes Brad and Brad is—don’t take this the wrong way—he's good for Dean in a different way than you're good for Dean. Brad's a homegrown boy. He can give Dean normal."

"Well that's really fudging great."

I'd laugh at the angel using 'fudge' if we weren't talking about something that's probably gut wrenching for him. He's staring at the floor in front of him, completely dejected.

"He loves you more Michael, there's no doubt, but I'm starting to think Cas is right, in some ways, he's a moody teenager. I think if you piss him off, he'd rashly…"

"Rashly what?"

"Have you heard of the term 'take a break?'"

"Yes, yes. I've watched enough Dawson's Creek and other such teenage mellow dramas to know what that means."

I raise an eyebrow, 'cause, Dawson's Creek?

"Guilty pleasure."

"Well I think he'd make the rash decision to take a break if you keep showing him your jealousy. You'll push him away, since I can tell he wants this. He'd regret it immediately of course, but you know how stubborn our boy is."

He nods. "So there's nothing I can do?"

"I think there is. You need to ride this one out Michael. Trust how much Dean cares about you to win out in the end. Let him have this."

"He calls him, babe. It annoys me. It makes me want to dump Brad's body in an ocean with cement shoes."

"Okay, Don Vito Corleone. That's enough, Sur. You're supposed to be an enlightened being. It's time you act like it. Now how's your pain?"

"I'm fine, sir."

"I didn't ask if you were fine, I asked about your pain."

"There's nothing you can do about it."

"You know that's not true."

"I'm almost completely out of pain, it's just this arm. It's just the tiredness that's the real problem I can't seem to get rid of."

"Maybe take a break on the sex."

"You know I can't do that."

"What's going on with that arm? It didn't seem so bad the other night. I noticed you favoring it, but it didn't seem this immobile."

"It recently became, dislocated then almost torn off. I called your witch doctor and this was the best he could come up with."

"What? Michael!"

"Don't worry, I wasn't playing kinky sex games. It was, the usual. He's still quite angry. He bounces between extremes of guilt, bribing me with gifts and bursts of anger. I'm trying to collect 'brownie points,' as Dean usually calls them."

Gotta say; wish it were some kinky sex game. My fists are balled—I hate that there's nothing I can fudging do. I've also never heard of Lucifer being this mad. It must have been some object that was lost.

"You don't need to worry about me, sir."

"Of course I'm worried about you."

"I think you should worry about how you're going to get all of these beans pickled. I don't think your husband is going to let you stay up all night."

"Not helpful, Michael."

"Whoa. Touchy. Okay, not my business anyway, but you do remember you've not got an army of Colts—"

"Okay, that's enough. Let's get you out of that. I want to take a look at you before the boys get back and you're not going to be here when they do."

"Are you kicking me out too?"

"No one's kicking you out. This is your home too. I'm sending you back to your loft to rest and making sure you don't do something stupid. You're in one of those moods."

"You're one to talk," he mutters.

"Excuse me?"

"Uh nothing, sir. Sir?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"You don't have to do this now. You've got, other things to tend to."

Silly angel, when will he learn? "I've got plenty of time to take care of you Michael."

We work him out of the sling and I can see it's painful. When his shirt is off, I look over the poultice Dr. Shaggy's put on him.

"Still looks good. I think we can leave it. Get Tom to change it tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"The scars look good. Should be gone Friday, but I'll rub some aloe on."

"Thank you Mr. Winchester. Sir?"

"Yes, Michael."

"Are you going to need Dean Friday?"

"Thanks for asking, Sugar, and I was thinking about it, but I've monopolized enough of Dean's time and he's helping me all day Saturday too." Not to mention I've been a real grouch-o, and he's put up with my sour mood.

He sags relieved. I've learned how much the angel needs Dean. I'm sure he could have talked with Cas on the phone. Cas does prefer to have important conversations in person, but Michael's not well, he wouldn't make Michael come here as he is.

I spend some time soothing the tense creature, but I think about Cas. If I were doing this to any other 'man,' Cas would have a fit, but he's quite clear inside about what Michael means to me. He's another one of my large brood. My other little boy.

When I'm done, I help him back into his clothes, then the sling.

"Thanks Sam," he says. "You know, Dr. Shaggy has the impression I'm your…that you're my…"

"Daddy?" I provide since he's having such a hard time saying it. It's not the first time that mistake has been made. Often when we were all at the park together when Dean was younger, people assumed both boys were mine. They were mistaken for brothers a lot.

He's blushing furiously right now; it's kind of fun. I seem to have the magic power, of making the surly angel blush.

"Yeah. I didn't…I didn't correct him." He looks at his feet.

I'm not often surprised, but right now, I'm fudging surprised, and flooded with happiness. I can't help the happy tear that escapes my eye, but I wipe it away quickly, so I don't embarrass the poor guy anymore than he already is.

"Well I may, or may not have written you down as Michael Winchester on the forms I filled out for you, the first time he saw you." I'm teasing him. I've actually never filled out forms for Michael and neither has he. Dr. Shaggy's always seen him sort of unofficially. I run a hand through his dark hair and gently nudge his chin up, so he's looking at me. "You're lucky you didn't correct him, or you'd have been in big trouble, Sur."

Finally he smiles.

That's when Cas walks in. Normally I'm happy to see him, but right now I just feel like he's a pest. Every time he's around lately, he's dictating a new rule.

He pretends to look for something in the fridge and comes out with a beer, casually leaning against the counter. "Were you able to talk some sense into him Michael?"

Ah. So he had Michael up to the same thing he put Dean up to. "No. He's stubborn like your son. How many jars are there, anyway?"

"Yeah, Samuel. How many jars are there?"

"Okay. It's time for the tops to leave. My helpers will be back soon, I want to get some done before they do."

Cas grabs another beer out of the fridge. "C'mon Michael. I'll teach you something about obstinate Colts. Dean's mostly a Winchester, but he's got a string of Colt in him you've got to watch out for."

Michael looks to me to make sure it's not a trick. I nod at him. He takes the beer hesitantly from Cas with his good hand and thankfully, they walk out the sliding glass door.

~DM~

"So, uh, I'm sorry about, Michael."

"It's okay, Sugar.

"I'm also sorry everyone's so grouchy. We'll all be back to normal after Sunday." Least I fucking hope so. "So where we going?"

"There's this little Italian restaurant my parents take my brothers and me to sometimes. It's casual and quick. I knew you'd want to get back to your daddy."

For a football jock, Brad is extremely thoughtful.

"I've been nothing but trouble for you, I don't get why you bother with me," I say shaking my head.

"'Cause I love you Dean." When he says it, it's so fucking simple, just a fact. So…easy.

I don't say anything back and he doesn't expect me to, which just makes me feel even worse. He's so frigging understanding.

When we get to the restaurant, he's ever the gentleman, running around to my side and helping me down from the truck. He's already made it amply clear he knows I'm not an invalid, he's just trying to be gentlemanly.

We're at the table, we've ordered and we're just waiting. This feels a lot more intimate than before; I feel like a grown-up; I'm on a fucking date. What Brad and I did before was a date too, but right now there are no other kids around (more typical of teenage 'dating,') it's just the two of us.

"I meant what I said earlier Dean. I've had my eye on you a long time," he says, blue eyes sparkling.

"I know. You didn't exactly make it secret."

He smiles. "I used to beg my mama to hurry up, so we could get to church faster so I could get a seat behind you when I was little. I made a game of spying on you around the club."

Brad started off younger than me, but he caught up. Everybody does.

"So it doesn't bother you? That I've lived before? A whole other life."

"Not in the least. I don't know why it would bother anyone, it's exciting. I wish you could tell me about your other life."

"I wish I could to. The details are pretty foggy." I'm not lying completely. The details are hazy, but that doesn't meant I don't see some things pretty fucking clearly. I just _can't_ tell him that shit.

"Does it bother people that you're a Moddler?"

"On occasion, but not really for the most part. The way my parents structured things, I didn't really have to tell too many people." It's only really come up with my various hockey teams and school teachers. In school, the other kids would move on and sometimes I was kept behind, or pulled out of school for a year or two. By then, they'd kinda forgotten about me. Sure they knew who I was, but they usually seemed to take on a protective older brother or older sister stance. I may have shied away from making too many friends, something Daddy always comments he thinks is from my other life, but people always seem to like me and want to make friends with me.

Brad's holding my hand across the table, we're really sappy.

"Can I ask you a question? It's kinda personal though," I warn him.

"You can ask me anything you want Dean."

"You said your parents have a domestic discipline relationship, kinda like my parents," I begin. Even that gives Brad brownie points with me. Of course I know other kids with parents like mine, my parents made sure of it, but no one at my school—least not anyone I know of. "but you haven't…"

"Threatened to spank you?" he finishes for me, blue eyes sparkling.

I don't know why I'm shy around him over this shit. It's not like I'm shy around anyone else. My cheeks are cherry red. "Yeah."

"Believe me, I've wanted to, but I'm pretty sure it's not my place."

Huh. I'm not sure either. Would Michael care? "But you would if we were married?"

He doesn't have to answer me in words, I can see the 'are you really asking me that?' in his eyes.

"Okay, okay. I admit I'm very spankable, but I…" I can't even believe I'm about to say this, but I'm a curious fucking cat. "I'd kinda like to know when you think I need a spanking, even if you can't spank me."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. It's a huge turn on for me."

"Okay, but just remember, you asked."  
We leave it at that. The food is fucking fantastic. I pay him back for the cock-sucking earlier, with my own version of not-sex and we head back to help Daddy.

~DM~

It's much later. We came back to the house and helped Daddy 'till Papa shut down our pickling operation. Daddy wasn't pleased and he looked fucking worried, but he obeyed Papa knowing exactly how far he can push him and since he's been stepping over that line a ton lately, thankfully, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

When we're all cleaned up, Brad tells me he's got to go before he's in trouble too and fuck, I don't want him to go, but I walk him to the door and to his truck; he gives me a helluva kiss good night. "Brad, wait!" I say before he climbs up to the driver's side of his truck. "Pick me up for school tomorrow?"

He smiles his dreamy Brad smile. "Of course."


	12. Michael Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something about this chapter broke my heart. I dunno. More so the Dean Michael stuffs...don't know if it will have the same effect on you, but get your glass of wine out jic. 
> 
> Happy Birthday to Majestic Duck! Two spankings in this chapter, just for her ;-)

THURSDAY

I wake up Thursday with a terrible feeling in the pit of my gut. Today is just not going to go well, is it? I have no reason to fucking think that, but it's there with me when I'm showering, when I'm getting dressed and when I check my phone before I go downstairs.

Brad's text me; he'll see me soon. Hannah's text me she's got something fucking important to talk to me about. Michael hasn't text me at fucking all. Not last night and not this morning. I was honestly too pissed about yesterday to fucking text him either, but this morning, I'm not as mad. Just irked.

Daddy does not look good when I see him. He's seriously fucking stressed. But that's not why he's upset with me. "Did you kick Michael out yesterday Dean Daniel Jonathan Winchester?"

Two and three names isn't good, but four names is Texan for fucked.

I immediately start saying things, any things that will calm him the fuck down and not result in a spanking. Yeah. Papa's not the only one who spanks me in our house, but it's far more rare for Daddy to. "Um, I wasn't trying to kick him out, Daddy. _I swear._ He was just here and they were fighting over me and it seemed easiest way to diffuse the situation. Besides, he wasn't supposed to be here."

Something I said worked. Daddy takes a huge breath and his whole body softens. "Okay, sweetheart. I believe you. He won't tell you, but his feelings were really hurt is all."

And holy fuck, Daddy is protective of him. It's not the first time I've seen it, just not _that_ in-fucking-tensely. Just what the fuck happened? Maybe him being physically hurt like that scared Daddy?

"I'm sorry too, Dean Bean. I've been a stressed out maniac. It doesn't help I've got your father looking in on me every chance he gets."

"I thought you liked that Daddy?"

"I do. The other ninety-five percent of the time, but remember what I said about it being inconvenient sometimes? Now is one of those times and it's not something you get to turn off and on, that wouldn't be fair, I know. I just really, really, wish I could right now. There's still so much to do and he won't let me stay up past ten to do it."

I'm done trying to convince Daddy to do less; I feel bad for him. I understand the position he's in. "I don't have any exams today and I'm all caught up. I could stay home from school today."

"I'd actually say yes, but your father would never allow it and I'm not really in a good position to wheedle right now."

Poor Daddy. I get up and give him a hug. "We'll get it all done, I swear. I can bring Brad back with me today."

"That'd be great sweetheart, thank-you. Maybe I will call your uncle Dal."

When Papa enters the kitchen, I've long since sat down and begun eating breakfast, but he's looking us both over, like he already suspects our newly forged alliance. "Good morning trouble makers," he says and confirms what I was thinking.

"The sun's barely risen and you think we're both up to something? Jeez, Papa."

"Never dare to judge unless you've heard the other side."

In other words, he's open to my counterpoint. I haven't got one.

"It's just as I thought. I know exactly how to wrangle in two wild Colts," he tells us both in that voice of his that says he's done with nonsense. "Dean, you've got exams, in case you forgot with all this fundraiser foolishness. I want at least two hours of studying from you tonight, despite your daddy's idea that you're going to help him all afternoon and all evening. Understand?"

I know Papa would never hurt me, but it doesn't make the look he's giving me any less terrifying. "Yes, sir," I say and look at my plate, 'cause there's no way I can stare directly at those eyes for too long.

"And I'm this close, to shutting this whole operation down, Samuel," he tells Daddy, pinching his thumb and pointer finger together leaving a smidgeon of a space between them. "Tread, carefully."

Daddy must feel the same as I do because he doesn't even ball his fists when he says, "yes, sir."

Papa hasn't even raised his voice once. Winchester's don’t need to, to be heard, but lord help you if they do. Papa reminds me a lot of Grampa when he pulls out the newspaper (who even reads the newspaper anymore—he does) and drinks his coffee, while I finish my breakfast quiet as a fucking mouse.

None of us can say anything, breakfast is unusually quiet and I think Papa's taking his time on purpose, not wanting us to conspire together once he's gone.

"M-may I be excused, Father?" I say when I'm finally finished. Brad will be here soon, I'll just wait out-fucking-side for him rather than stay another minute in this mortuary.

He brings his eyes down from his newspaper to study me closely. "You remember we are scheduled to re-evaluate your curfew in one week's time?"

We are? Oh right. He said before Daddy and I head to Texas we'd talk about it. "I remember, sir."

"Good. Behave yourself. You may go."

When Brad pulls up, I'm so fucking glad to see him. I decide my chances of Brad feeling sorry for me are high. "Hey, babe. It's good to see you," I say and kiss him before we pull away. He starts driving us to school.

"Still a war zone in there?"

"Yeah and fuck, somehow Papa just knew Daddy and I joined forces. He's so good. I hope my future husband never gets _that_ good at fucking figuring me out," I say and wish I fucking hadn't.

"You do, do you?" he says with the eyes to go along with that statement. Oh right. He thinks he's going to be my husband. It was really only meant for a laugh, because I'm never going to have a husband—we all know why by this point, I'm not even going to say it.

I do realize I should backpedal, I turn on the Dean charm. "I'm only kidding, babe. I'm sure you'll figure me out plenty."

And holy shit. That doesn't fucking budge him. "I'd argue I know y'all pretty well by now. We may have only recently started dating, but I've know you my whole life. I haven't said much, because I've been real respectful knowing I'm the underdog team in comparison to your college boyfriend. I think you underestimate me."

Holy fuck am I turned on right now. "Ye-yeah?" I swallow hard hoping I can swallow something else hard.

"You Dean Winchester are a brat, through and through. If you don't mind me sayin', I think there's too much goin' on and no one's been payin' enough attention to you. If I could, I'd spank you right now," he says with a thicker accent than usual.

"Y-you would? On what grounds?"

"You just need it. It would calm you in all the chaos, baby. And I don't think anyone's noticed yet, just how wrapped up you are with your daddy—not even you. Your father's right to keep a close eye on you both, considerin' the circumstances."

I can hardly breathe. He squeezes my hand. "Does that pretty much sum it up, Cowboy?"

I nod. He's right about everything. All of it. A fucking tear escapes my eye; I wipe at it with my free hand. "Don't cry, Sugar. Everything's gonna be all right. I promise. Do you trust me?"

Fuck. I think I really do. "Yeah. I trust you."

"Okay. Stop worrying. I'll take care of everything. That's exactly why you'll marry me one day, because even if it takes forever, I'll die trying."

~DM

I listen to Brad. I stop worrying based on his word alone. Our lunch together has become fairly standard, except now we're the make-out kings, outdoing Hannah and whoever she's latched onto today. She's as promiscuous as I am, or I guess, how I used to be. I haven't been with anyone other than Michael since…has it been a full week? Almost. That's a record for me and actually, I haven't even been with Michael. Holy shit folks, Dean Winchester's spend an entire week almost monogamously (we'll consider the Michael kiss like a free-bee for me.) You know? Like a smoker on the patch.

We're outside in the football stands, eating lunch with everyone and my dick is seriously hard. "I wish you could fuck me right now, babe," I say in his ear so his team can't hear.

"Dean Winchester," he scolds in my ear. "Did you just ask me to have sex with you again?"

I'm not sure whether I should say yes or no. I mean, of course it is yes, and maybe four days ago, I would have said something along the lines of 'should we take this underneath?' but after that conversation this morning, I'm getting a don't fuck with him vibe. I decide to try my family's little way of diffusing a situation like this one. "Nuh-uh. No, sir." I fucking smile against his ear.

"Good. Because that's definitely an instance where I'd spank you, since you said you were wondering. I meant what I said about our wedding night."

Shit. I'm going to lose this fucking bet, aren't I?

"What's in a chastity vow anyway?"

"Dean."

"Okay. Okay. I hear you." I'm going to have to come at this from a different angle. It's much easier to convince someone in the heat of the moment.

I continue to make out with him though, despite all the heckling we endure.

Hannah looks anxious to talk to me, but every time I give her my 'what the fuck is up?' eyes, she shakes her head and mouths 'later.' Later never comes.

I completely forget to ask Brad to come over 'till it's time to go home, but he has to turn me down. He's got to go out for his brother's birthday with his family and can't skip it. "I'm so sorry, baby. But I promise, everything's taken care of."

The news is unnaturally heartbreaking to me. Fuck. I think I'm going to…I think I'm going to cry. It's too early for that, isn't it? 'Specially since it's technically twice today already. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"C'mere, Sugar." He pulls me to him from the driver's side and rubs my back. He feels strong and confident and some of it rubs the fuck off on me.

"I think I'm okay, babe. Sorry for all the…" Fuck I feel like an idiot.

"I hope I'm making myself clear—that's why I'm here. I'd be there in a heartbeat tonight if I could."

I wipe my eyes. "I know. Fuck. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing and go in there and kick some pickling ass, okay?" Brad almost never says things like 'ass,' he must really be trying to cheer me up. I do appreciate his sports like pep talk.

I begin walking toward the house as he drives off and Michael comes to mind again. I sat in class thinking about him, while I waited for the teacher to finish up with his or her boring ass end of the year lectures. There really isn't much going on at school, they should just have finals and be done with it.

So I spent my non-Brad time thinking about him. Daddy said his feelings were hurt. I mean, Daddy's said that before, but does Michael really get hurt feelings? I'm not sure.

I make a U-turn, hoping Daddy hasn't seen me yet and toward the Impala. I'll drop by his loft, really quick. Just a quick 'I'm sorry and let's fuck to make it up,' and I'll be pickling beans 'till midnight. Besides, he said he was calling Uncle Dal. Dally's good at beans. He can do that, while Daddy does other stuff. They don't really need me that badly.

Tom looks surprised to see me, which is fucking bizarre. It's not like I haven't been dropping by on a frequent basis since forever. "Um, Mr. Winchester, sir. Maybe you'd like to come back at a time more convenient?"

"Now's pretty fucking convenient for me."

He winces. I quickly find out why.

I hear Michael's laugh followed by another low, husky laugh and my heart fucking sinks. I don't know why it does. It's not like I don't know, 'cause of course I _know_. It's the one thing I carry around with me constantly. Even when I'm not actually thinking about it, it's in the fucking background like fucking safari on an iPhone, using up all my battery life.

Not talking about it like we used to has actually made it worse. 'Cause even though I _know_ , not seeing it makes it like it's not real and I stupidly did feel like Michael's one and only even though I wasn't being his one and only. But the fucking realness of it crashes down around me.

I…I can't. I'm fucking leaving. But I'm not fast enough and the door to his bedroom slides open and he's kissing him goodbye, via licking him all down his neck. I watch like you do a train wreck; I want to tear my eyes away, but I can't stop fucking looking. He's laughing, having fun with fuckface, arm still in his fucking sling, but of course, beautiful as hell.

He's naked, but thankfully fuckface isn't. Guess he was just leaving. Finally he sees me. "Dean?"

"Oh, hello. You must be Michael's younger brother." Fuckface says. "I'm Tim."

"Time for you to fucking leave, Tim," I say.

He looks at Michael, Michael shrugs, turns and walks back into the bedroom. I should leave with Tim, but I don't. I make sure he fucking leaves (I think he's figured out Michael and I aren't brothers) and prey on Michael, stalking into his bedroom. He's still naked, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"It's starting to feel like fucking groundhog day, but to quote you from yesterday—" he begins.

"Spare me. I know. I fucking know, okay." He won't even look at me. "Is this payback for yesterday?"

"How could it be? I didn’t even know you were coming by."

True. With nothing left to say, because what can I say? This is us, forever…I start fucking crying. It's like, the day of fucking crying. But this isn't like earlier with Brad, it's gut-racking sobs and they hurt.

Since I'm kind of fucking frozen, he has to come get me. I feel a tug on my arm and I follow. He pulls me down on the bed with him; I curl around his naked body and cry into his chest. His hand brushes through my hair over and over and he's humming something familiar, I can't quite place.

Eventually, I finish my stupid sob fest, because that's all it is, stupid, I know how it goes; I think I'm just on edge this week. This isn't something I freak about at this level anymore. I don't like it, but I'm dealing with, better than this. I swear I am. When the cry-haze clears I know the fucking song he's humming. "Is that the," sniff, "Winne-the-Pooh theme song?" I laugh. Only Michael can have me fucking laughing so easily after a cry session like that.

"Yes," sniff.

Sniff? "Michael are you crying?"

"Angels don't cry."

I pull away. His eyes are almost as wet as fucking mine. "One does."

"You weren’t supposed to be here," he changes the subject.

"I know. It was my dumbass maneuver." Daddy did say I should make a rule. "Maybe we should have a call first policy?"

"Huh. Call first? This seems like something we should have thought up sooner."

"Can we blame us? You've only been stopping by the house unannounced since I was fucking two. It's kinda a foreign concept to us."

"Exactly. I don't think we should feel bad. No sense in beating ourselves up over it." He smiles. "You okay now, my little duck?"

"I'm fine. Things at the house are just intense."

"Don't I know it. Daddy Winchester was not pleased with me."

"Ha. You and me both."

We both fucking laugh.

I push up and away, but he pulls me back to him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I should get back. I was supposed to go straight home to help Daddy and Uncle Dal, I only came here to quickly apologize for yesterday."

"Let's just consider ourselves even. How's that?"

"Fine with me."

"And what do you mean your uncle Dal's helping?"

"Daddy was going to call him."

"Even if he did, we all remember he has a concert tomorrow night, yes? He'll be busy with that."

I did think it was a bit late in the game for Uncle Dal, but I wasn't really thinking far beyond beans. "Fuck. I really shouldn't have come here. I gotta go." Now I'm feeling the stress of the fucking pickled beans. Michael looks at me a bit like Papa would.

"Is Papa Winchester home?"

"Probably. He chewed us both out this morning. He's convinced we've gone Colt on him and is keeping a close eye on the both of us."

"Have you?"

"Have we what?"

"Gone Colt?"

"There's not even any such thing."

"Yes there is, I've seen this before, even the fact you're talking in 'we's.' Fuck. I can't even come with you. I have dinner at Father's."

"I can't believe he's still doing the whole 'dinner' thing. You barely eat and I'm sure your father doesn't at all. What kind of dinner could it be?"

"I told you. He's certain it's what families do. He wants me to be his family, so he hosts these dinners. He knows I eat a little."

"I think I'm almost willing to sell my left nut to attend one of these 'dinners.'"

He spanks my ass, hard for that with this good hand. "Ow! I was only joking and I said 'almost.'"

"No. Don't even joke about that."

"Okay. Jesus."

"I don't want you pickling anymore beans tonight. Whatever your daddy gets done, he gets done. He doesn't need a thousand jars of beans or whatever ridiculous number he thinks he's jarring. Papa Winchester should stop him too."

My mouth opens then closes. I glare at him.

"Glare at me all you want. You're going to the crazy place with him, I can see it in your eyes. I forbid it."

What is it with grouchy fucking tops today? "This is Daddy, Michael. Are you insane? He'll be pissed at you."

"'Till Sunday. Then he'll see I made the right decision for you. In fact, in this, I'd rather make the decision I know Papa Winchester would approve of; if he wasn't so distracted with Sam…" he mutters the last part.

Just what _do_ they talk about? "I don't agree Michael. I'm not making that rule."

"Who said anything about a rule? There's more than just rules. There are also decisions; decisions that _I_ make. That _you_ gave me permission to make."

Fuck, he has learned a thing or two from Papa. "Look, can we just talk about this? Please Michael. Can't we negotiate?"

By this point, we're both sitting up on his bed. He's still naked, I know he'd have his arms crossed if one of the wasn't in a sling. "I'm listening."

"I'll only help Daddy for as long as you say. Papa's said I have to study for a couple hours tonight anyway. I could help him for a few hours and then go study. Papa will be there the whole time. He'll make sure I don't go to the crazy place in that time."

He's looking at me skeptically. "I don't like it."

"Please, Michael. It'll kill me not being able to help him." Tears are already in my fucking eyes again and I don't mean them to be. I'm not trying to fucking manipulate him with them, I just feel all this emotional energy on the surface today.

He sighs angrily. "Fine. You may help him for a few hours and then you will go study. Agreed?"

I wipe at my tears. "Yeah. I mean yes, sir. Thank-you." I slide my arms around him, careful of his arm in the sling.

"Okay. No more crying today. I really ought to spank you, but there's simply no time. I do have to go. If it were anything other than my father, I'd make it wait. I'll take good care of you tomorrow, Duck."

I nod, because I think he's right, I probably do need spanking—even Brad said so.

"Besides, by then I should have both arms free again," he smiles delightfuly.

When I get home, thankfully Papa's nowhere to be seen, but Daddy is frantic. "Oh thank God Dean. Your uncle Dal—"

"Couldn't make it," I finish for him.

"Yeah, but he'll be here Saturday."

When Daddy fills me in on all we need to do, I decide I should try to get out of tomorrow night with Michael. This is far more important. Daddy and I work as a good team and we are getting a lot done, it's just that there's so much to be done. I get excited when Daddy tells me he thinks this year, we're going to raise the most money yet. Each jar of beans will be worth six dollars, it makes us more determined to finish our tasks.

Papa enters around the time it should be dinner, but Daddy cancelled Chef Andrew on account that he would have not kitchen space anyway, we were going to grill up some Deanwiches, but we completely forgot. Papa doesn't mind taking us out for dinner, but he sees us forgetting as a sign we are lost to the 'bean madness' and he is not impressed.

"Okay, I've had enough. How many jars have you two managed, Samuel?"

"Five hundred, total. We're almost done, Cassy."

"Correction. You are done. Pack it in, Sam. We'll make a quick dinner, then you my boy are going to study," he says to me.  
But, but, we still have two hundred jars left and that's a whole twelve hundred dollars of revenue lost all because Papa's being overbearing and unreasonable. He's not giving us enough credit; Daddy and I can handle this just fine. I decide to tell him so.

"We're both adults Papa. We'll have it done by midnight, if you'd just stop being so god damned over protective." I know. I know. I know it as soon as I've said it in fact, 'cept the words are out and it's too fucking late. But it was something like what Daddy told me to say, right?

If I thought the look on Papa's face this morning was scary, the one now, I don't have words for. Saying he's mad is a fucking understatement. "Now, Cas—" Daddy tries to defend me.  
"Quiet Sam. Dean, come here now, please." He's so calm and fucking cool about everything, but I still feel a shiver at his words.

"I d-didn't mean it, P-papa. I'm sorry. It just came out."

"I thank-you for your apology, Dean. You're still getting a good spanking. Come here. _Now_."

Fuck. The Winchester policy is that if you don't want to get spanked in front of others, don't misbehave in front of others. We do keep it to ourselves a little. Papa would never spank me in front of just anyone. But Daddy is definitely not someone he feels he has to shield me from.

I fucking nervously make my way over as Papa sits down. "Stop it Dean. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Yes you are. Spanking hurts."

"You know what I mean, you'll live."

I can tell Daddy feels bad for me, but I'm pretty sure he's next anyway. I'm still wearing my school pants, since I didn't even bother changing when I got home. Knowing protocol well, I unbutton them and unzip them for Papa, he pulls everything straight down—pants, boxers, all of it and guides me over his knees.

I still feel plenty of love from him, displeased as I know he is. That just makes this whole thing worse, but good at the same time. If I didn't have that, knowing that his discipline comes from a place of love, it wouldn’t be what it is to me; it wouldn't be okay with me.

"You are not an adult, little boy," he says once I'm over his knee. He immediately starts spanking me and since I'm no longer sore from the Michael spanking, he's able to harness his full potential. The slaps ring loud through the kitchen, Papa pauses to tell Daddy to continue cleaning up.

"And even if you were, that was extremely disrespectful, and I would not allow you to speak that way to me, or your daddy," he lectures as he continues to set my ass ablaze. It hurts by this point and I'm crying, but not just from how tender my ass cheeks are getting. I feel awful for what I said. I could have been a helluva lot gentler with my language.

Papa stops for a moment. "Sam, pass me that wooden spoon over there, please."

Fuck. I hate that fucking thing. It makes me feel like a little kid, which is most likely Papa's point. I hear the dreaded drawer open and Daddy hands it to him, but goes straight back to packing up all Bean paraphernalia.

"You see this?"

I sniffle. "Y-yes, sir."

"I am in charge in this home, Mr. Winchester. The next time you talk to me like that, I'm going to use this for thirty minutes on your bare bottom. Do you understand?"

Fuck do I ever—especially after that spanking. "Yes, sir. I-I'm S-Sorry, Papa. Really."

"Thank-you, Dean." He gives me ten solid whacks with that nasty fucking spoon, so I can know what I'm in for should I ever plan on being stupid enough speak to him like that again. I swear to you, I fucking won't.

He stands me up and returns my boxers, knowing my ass will be to stingy for me to want the constrictive school pants. "Give your daddy a hug then go to your room; take care of yourself and start studying. I'll be up momentarily."

I'm more than happy to.

It never looks as bad as it feels. My ass is a little red, but nothing like that strapping from Michael. I might feel it tomorrow, but even that's questionable. I still rub aloe on it and slip into a pair of sweat pants and change into a t-shirt.

I pull out my books immediately and begin studying. I don't even pretend to study, worried Papa will somehow fucking know.

After an hour, there's a knock on my door. I know it's gotta be Papa. I tell him to enter.

I can barely look at him.

"Come here, Dean," he says with open arms. I can tell from the tone in his voice, he's still severely disappointed.

I latch onto him and yep, to keep with the theme of the fucking day, I'm crying again. How many times does that make today? It's gotta be a fucking world record or something. He rubs my back and soothes me as I repeatedly tell him how fucking sorry I am. "Okay, Dean. That's enough. You know you're forgiven."

"I know Papa, but I wish I had a fudging time machine."

He laughs and that makes me feel a whole fucking sea league better. "It's my fault. I've been distracted with your daddy and haven't kept a good enough eye on you. How long has that been building up?"

"Probably since Tuesday," I admit shamefully.

"I know it didn't help being the middle of Daddy and me, but regardless Dean, that sort of behavior won't be tolerated in this house. You know where to come when you're having trouble. We've only just had this conversation."

And Papa really doesn't like having to repeat himself. "Yes, sir. But honestly, Papa? I think this time I didn’t know myself until I was over your knee." Michael knew though and so did Brad. I don't tell him that part.

"I understand. It's the same with your daddy. Like I said, this one was on me. You still deserved and needed that spanking, but I'm not going to count this when I determine whether or not your curfew should be increased." He kisses my crown.

"Thank-you, Papa." That's a huge deal and Papa's way of making up for the craziness as of late.

He sighs. "I do need your help calming your daddy down. I spanked him too, but he feels this is all his fault because he asked you to say something to me, and he can't let it go."

"He did, but he definitely didn't tell me to, um, say what I said. That one's on me."

"It most certainly is."

"Papa?"

"Yeah, Kiddo?"

"Thank-you for stopping us. Daddy was crazy, you were right from the beginning and I got crazy too."

He laughs.

"What's going to happen now?"

He sighs again, heavily. "This is a tough one. Daddy's so distraught right now, I can't tell him he's not allowed to make the food, especially when I've cancelled the rest of his beans. I'm going to help him tomorrow, and you're going to go be with Michael, far away from beans and church fundraisers."

That makes me laugh. I'm sure Daddy's going to love that. "Sounds good Papa."

After that, we head downstairs and I run to Daddy whose eyes are red from crying as he's sadly trying to make dinner. I assure Daddy that I'm not upset with him and both Papa and I help him finish making dinner. I can feel us starting to get back to normal. There's a balance in our home and when something disrupts that balance, look the fuck out. Not to worry, we are pretty good about laughing at situations like this after the fact. It all seems like a big deal right now, but we'll tease each other about it eventually; most likely by Sunday dinner.

I'm sent back to my room after dinner and I know it's for the night. I don't complain and am actually grateful for the structure. Everything feels so much less chaotic.

I'm exhausted, so after logging in an extra two hours of study time, I get ready for bed. There are a shit load of texts as is now the usual. Somehow Mark from Brad's football team got my phone number and is insistent I join them for a workout. Brad sends me his usual before bed sweet nothings that make me smile. And there's actually a text from Michael, five in fact. Of course there is though, he was fucking worried about me.

_Sorry. Didn't check my phone 'till now. Shit happened. Tell you all about it tomorrow. Don't have to worry anymore. Operation Beans has been suspended indefinitely by Colonel Winchester._

I basically get an 'I told you so.' _See? I was right. I make good decisions for you, petal._

Fucking petal. Maybe I should come up with something for him, but do it up Daddy-style making it freaking ridiculous. Fact: I think he's learned the whole nicknames thing from Daddy.

Two can play at this game. _Goodnight my little powder puff, girl._

I am laughing my _ass_ off. That right there is fucking funny. Comedic gold. I don't care that it doesn't make any sense.

_Sweet dreams puddin' muffin._

Damn him. That one's pretty good.

 _Okay, sugar pastry._ I'm laughing so hard, when Papa walks by, he peeks in and tells me to go to sleep, effectively ending my name-war with Michael. That's how he gets the last word in.

_Go to bed, Princess Winchester, or else your prince is going to have his paddle waiting for you tomorrow._

That's fucking sweet as far as Michael goes and I can't help reading it over and over. I don't even care he's called me 'princess.' I fall asleep and do have good dreams.

FRIDAY

It's not what it looks like. I'm his. He's not mine. I know he thinks I own him, or something else ridiculous. But it's not true.

I let him think that of course; it makes things easier for me to keep him safe. Practically gave himself to me on a platter, I wasn't going to turn it down. Now, if only I could get rid of this pesky rule that _he_ should agree to all rules. He doesn't know what's good for him, I do.

He's holding hands with _Brad_ the too good looking football player. Brad is what every human his age wants. I wish I could find fault with him; I'd instantly tell Dean all about it; Dean trusts me; he'd believe me; Brad would be history. I might have to make something up if he continues to be so fucking perfect.

If it were up to me, I'd blow Brad to pieces and I might still if he doesn't stop kissing him on the lips like they're doing right now. What kind of school is this? Aren't there rules about that? There should be. I should notify the principal.

If I'm so mad with hatred over Brad, why allow Dean to see him at all? I know that's what you're thinking. The answer: Because Dean wants to.

I'm not like Papa Winchester. I have a hard time not giving Dean everything he wants, even if it looks otherwise. Do you have any idea how hard it was to tell him he couldn’t go to his uncle's concert? I have a role, as Castiel continues to remind me. Dean needs me to be firm and maintain structure for him. I have to admit, it is much better when I have some modicum of control. I can relax; I'm better with Dean. When I allow him to break rules, I'm just as discomfited as he becomes.

And we fight.

The only time it's easy for me to deny him anything, is when I know it will harm him.

Dean pulls away from him when he sees me. "Michael? I thought I was meeting you at your place?"

 _Well don't get too excited to see me._ I remember when he couldn't wait to see me; would run to me squealing and jump up so I could catch him. _Mine_ , he'd say. I'd pretend to be annoyed, but I like being his.

"Say goodbye to your football hero."

He rolls his eyes, then leans in to fucking whisper something in Brad's ear, which they laugh at while I seethe. Brad kisses his cheek, which I don't like, but I don't mind as much as the other. The kissing of the lips thing.

But what I hate more than all of it is the _way_ they look at each other, like a couple of love sick teenagers—which I guess they are. Dean doesn't know it yet, but he's in love with Brad. I hope he never finds out.

I am not overreacting. I know Dean. He doesn't look at just anyone that way—it's the same way he looks at me.

He takes his sweet time, but finally joins me. "That wasn't even creative," he says.

"I've got better things to do with my time than to think up insults for that simple creature."

"Jesus fucking Christ. You're a ray of sunshine." He storms over to where he sees my Jeep parked. "I guess fucking Tom drove Baby home?"

"Yes. What the hell is wrong with you? Still trouble in Winchester paradise?"

"Well there was. Like you wouldn’t fucking believe, but all that's sorted out now. You know I don’t like it when angel dicks drive Baby home."

"It's only Tom."

"To you. I don't know him. I don't let anyone other than my uncles and parents drive Baby. You're the only other exception. It doesn't help that he's an angel."

"Hopefully you'll win the bet then. How's that going for you by the way?" I ask knowing exactly how it's gone. Dean hasn't slept with him and he won't. Brad is more to Dean than just fucking; another reason for me to send Brad out to sea.

He's already biting his lip. "Don't even think about lying to me."

"No, okay? I've made zero head way, pun not intended and don't fucking give me that smug look of yours."

"What's the matter, Duck? It's not like you to give up so soon."

"Can we please just drop it?"

I give him a quick once over tallying up his body language. Hm. It's probably not the time to argue about this. "For now," I say as we climb into the Jeep. "Tell Daddy what happened last night."

"Ew. No way, Michael. I think Daddy kink is out forever for us."

But he's smiling, which is the only reason I said it. I'm quite good at making Dean laugh.

"Then you'd better tell me."

"It was just like you said," he says making sure to give me credit. "Daddy and I were at the crazy place—the Colt place. I think our heads turned into pickled beans for a while. You should have heard the telling off I got from Papa yesterday when he tried to shut us down and I told him exactly what I thought of that."

"Which was?" I say as I pull away from Dean's school.

He looks like he can hardly say it now. "That he's being too God damn over protective and we were just fine staying up 'till midnight to get things done. We're both adults. Or something like that. I was just saying what Daddy told me to say," he defends, probably so I don't scold him for that one too. His cheeks are red. I so love his blush.

I laugh. "That was _exactly_ what your daddy told you to say? I don't think so. I don't feel sorry for you. You know the kind of reaction you'll get from Papa Winchester for sass like that. I think you could have got Sam's point across with less aggression. I'm surprised you're allowed out."

"Yeah, I know. Knew it soon as I said it and the look in his eyes—fuck that was scary, but I was a little wrapped up in pickling too, and I caught Daddy's disease. Papa spanked me right in front of Daddy, for mouthing him off like that and reminded me that I'm not a fucking adult yet. I think Papa wanted me out of the house tonight; far away from the kitchen and Daddy."

I laugh harder.

"I knew that's all the sympathy I'd get from you. My ass still fucking hurts."

"My poor baby. Shall I kiss it better?"

He gives me his coy Dean eyes. "I'd rather you kissed my dick better."

"What's wrong with your dick?"

"It's missed you, baby."

"Don't tell me Brad's finally realized cock sucking is also in violation of his chastity vow?"

"No. It just wants you. Hey, your arm's out of the sling."

"Can't get anything by you."

"That mean you're all healed?"

No, but I don't tell him that. My arm is healed, but it's a bit weak and thus my entire vessel is. My grace still has to work on healing it. "Good as new."

Sometimes I'm surprised he believes me. He really is a new Dean, forgetting much of his old life. A real hunter would never believe a word I've said and certainly not the lies I've told. They're barely even good lies, but they are for a good cause. They're for him and I'll keep lying to keep him alive.

"I feel bad for leaving Daddy by himself. I mean, I'm glad the pickling operation is closed, permanently, but he's still got way to much to do. He's in over his head. Papa really doesn't understand how much he has to do, because Daddy didn't fucking tell him. He's made all these new plans. I don't even think he's told me everything that's on that fucking list. I sure hope Papa doesn't get hold of it. Daddy's going to be in so much trouble."

He's stressed. Now I'm stressed. I spend most of my time worrying over his emotional and physical state. I don't know how he doesn't notice me staring at him. All the time. Carefully. Checking for signs of sickness, hunger, blood pressure, dehydration…

Speaking of. "Have you eaten?"

"I had lunch and all the snacks Daddy packed me, but I could eat."

Dean can always eat. It's a full time job keeping him fed. Sometimes I forget; when I'm preoccupied with keeping him alive in other ways. "I've got something for you back at the loft."

"You do? What is it? Did you cook?"

"God, no. I sent Tom for Mexican." The good, Sam approved Mexican restaurant.

"Sweet, baby." He leans back and I notice the sun is burning his eyes out, at least that's what it looks like to me; he _is_ squinting.

"Where are the sunglasses I bought you?"

"In my bag."

"Well that's a good place for them. Put them on. Now."

He thinks about telling me to fuck off. I can tell. His eyes open just a bit wider, before they squint in a way that's not at the sun and he clenches his jaw. He doesn't say anything, but he does reach into his bag to take out his Maui Jims. I bought them for him, recently. The woman at the store assured me they were the best in eye protection.

"Happy?"

"Overjoyed. Thank-you."

The whole way to the loft, he babbles on about school and the bake sale from hell while I pay avid attention, but only to gather necessary information I need about his state of well being. It's not that I don’t care; I do care because these are the things Dean's interested in, but I'm more preoccupied with what I can garner that will help me take proper care of him.

As far as being with him goes, just being near him is enough for me; it's a feeling beyond measure, something that is said an angel cannot feel except when they are near their human; the human they are devoted to; with which they share a profound bond. Touching him is even better than 'nearness.' It's ecstasy. But when I'm _in_ him…being in him is like everything being right. So while he talks, I take note of everything he's saying and basically marvel at his existence, feeling a calm and a peace that I can only feel when I'm near Dean Winchester.

We finally arrive at my loft where I slide the door open; when it's shut, I grab him.

The whole way here I had to sit near him, smell him, hear him and not touch him too much. I never know who will be watching and my father doesn’t seem to care what I do with 'the human' (as he says) behind closed doors, but it angers him when I 'play' with Dean in public. Currently, I'm trying to stay on his good side.

I've got Dean up again the sliding door to my loft, I'm on his mouth, then his neck, then his mouth, then his neck…he goes limp and pliable letting me do whatever I want to him. I wonder if he does the same thing with pigskin? The thought makes me angry and I slam him against the door, he mistakes my anger for passion and moans. He fucking likes it when I'm rough with him. He's perfect.

I pull away, he's panting; I smirk. "You like that Baby?"

"Uh-huh," he says, nodding. I remove his sunglasses so I can see his pretty eyes and admire his baby face.

"Wear these," I order.

"Yes, sir."

Fuck. I don't think there's anything that can make my dick leak more than Dean telling me, yes sir. I put his sunglasses on the counter and drag him inside. Tom's there of course standing near the tall table that's set for two adjacent to the kitchen. I grab Dean's hand and pull him along. He must be fed and watered before we engage in anymore activities. I've got things planned and for once I don't mean sex.

"Thank-you, Tom," Dean says. His parents drilled the concept of manners into his head early on; he's so fucking polite even to Tom.

Tom's never sure how much he's allowed to talk to Dean. Even after all this time. I trust him with Dean's life, which is a huge fucking deal and he knows it, but he's never sure how I'd react to him being too friendly with Dean. I'm not sure either to be honest. I tolerate the humans because I must, I don't have to tolerate angels. Well that's not exactly true, there are some angels I have to tolerate and some I don't.

I don't have to tolerate Tom and he knows it, but I like him. I think Dean would call us 'bros.' I've never entirely understood that term, but I'm fairly certain our extracurricular activities would categorize us as such. But if he ever put the moves on Dean, if I even _thought_ he was, well, I hope we'd be able to resolve it over a fist fight and beer like they do on human television shows, but we are angels and we don't exactly deal with things that way. Let's just say, I don't want to find out and neither does he, so he keeps things with Dean short.

Dean receives a nod from Tom while he addresses me. "Will that be all, sir?"

"That will be all."

While Tom is, for all intents and purposes, 'mine,' he is still meant to be loyal to my father first and foremost—we all are. He's supposed to 'keep an eye' on me and vouch for my various whereabouts when my father happens to be interested. But he isn't loyal to my father; he's loyal to me, which has been proven many times over. So, Tom will stay, but he'll give Dean and me the illusion of privacy. He leaves out the door, but he'll appear in my office. He's got wings.

"God that smells fucking good, I'm famished."

"Sit down and eat before you wither away," I tease. There was a time I really thought he was going to wither away when he said things like that, but Sam assured me Dean was exaggerating and since he seems at least be half as concerned with keeping Dean alive and well as I am, I eventually believed him.

I pull out his chair for him, he looks at me funny.

"Problem?"

"This just seems really fucking formal. What the fuck?"

I love his dirty mouth when it says 'fuck.' I smile. "I assure you it's not." But it is. I can't take him on a real date like Brad can.

The things Sam said to me worried the fucking hell out of me. They were simply true things and being a good father-type figure, he felt he had to talk to me about it. I obsessed over it for days cleaning everything twenty times over to the point Tom almost called Mr. Winchester. Because lose Dean to that, that…I have no names terrible enough for him; I just _won't_ fucking lose him to that creature.

"Eat," I order and take my place across from him.

He does eyeing me carefully while I open the two beers that are already there.

"Wow, you must have been not feeling well. It's almost fucking messy in here," he says with a mouth full of taco.

I know what he means by 'almost.' It's still outrageously clean, but it's messy for me. I had Tom 'mess it up,' a bit while I collected Dean. I didn’t want him to see the after effects of my cleaning rampage. He was so distraught yesterday, he didn’t even look around long enough to notice.

"I thought your daddy taught you not to talk with your mouth full? You could choke. Then who will I have to spank?"

He smiles, but finishes chewing and swallows before he says, "so what have you decided to spank me for this time?"

"I don't know. There are so many options."

"Well if you could go kinda easy, that would be much appreciated. Papa spanked me good."

"I'll spank you however I please. If you want to misbehave and earn yourself multiple spankings, that's not my fault." I won't of course, but he can _think_ that for a little bit.

He's quiet and looks suitably chastised. I decide to try a bite of the burrito in front of me, the only kind of Mexican food I can really stomach, but it's not my favorite. I'm hoping the taste will grow on me in some millennium.

After he's finished his first taco, he removes his school jacket, loosens his tie and pulls the tails of his shirt out of his pants. "I've gotta make room. I plan on eating all of these."

"How about you change?"

"You want me to put on a little show for you?" he says hopping up and reaching into his bag. I get up to stop him.

"I want you to wear something of mine." I want him to smell like me. And I know that goes against the whole I'm his, he's not mine thing, but I consider it a backwards claiming, so we can smell alike. I'd wear his shirt if it would fit.

"What?"

"Humor me."

"Okay," he sing songs. He's smiling though. I think he likes the suggestion.

"And you should shower, first." To clear away the stench of Brad's cologne. He knows what I'm not saying.

"Is there a reason you're being so territorial today?" he says as he takes off his shirt. Fuck he's sexy.

"If I was being truly territorial, I'd bite your neck."

"Wrong species, Sugar. You're an angel, not a vampire," he smirks and takes off his pants. He's down to just his boxers. "Shower with me?"

"I've already had a shower today."

"Not for getting clean. For getting dirty." He waggles his brow.

As if I didn’t know that. It's the very reason I'm not going to get in the shower with him. Somehow, someway, I'm going to make it through the evening without having sex with Dean. "No. Get in the shower before I spank you."

"Jesus fucking, Christ. All right." He walks into the bedroom and I can just see him enter the ensuite bathroom.

That's dangerously close to 'Fuck off,' but I let it go. Tonight is supposed to be special.

He's fast and walks out of the bedroom wearing nothing. "Um, clothes?"

Oh right.

"You okay, Michael?"

It's this fucking fatigue making me space out a little still. "Never better. Your father did a good job," I say noticing how deliciously pink his ass is, since he's strutting around naked. "Looks like I really will have to be careful when I spank your ass tonight." This make it more difficult to keep my vow not to fuck him. This isn't going very well.

"Why don't you two get together and compare fucking notes?"

I arch my brow at him.

"He said the exact same thing about your spanking Monday."

"Monday? Just how many times have you been spanked since Sunday?"

"Just two," he says sheepishly staring at the floor.

"You naughty boy. Well you know the rules, if you're spanked at school, you also get spanked at home. Let's get this out of the way," I say holding my hand out for him.

He laughs. "When did that become a rule?"

"I saw it in a porn once."

"You were watching porn without me? I thought we always watch porn together," he pouts.

"You were away in Texas and besides it was well before we started fucking."

He smiles. "Okay."

I pull him to me and kiss him softly this time. _I love you, Dean._

I pull out a chair and sit, bringing him to my side. "Do you know why I'm going to spank you, Duck?"

"I honestly have no fucking clue. I didn't break any rules, or well, I did, but I thought not going to the concert was punishment for that?"

"That's right. This isn't for a broken rule. This is for you and me. My role is to take care of you, make you feel safe and I'm not even talking about Angels and Demons and things that go bump in the night, but I'm here for that too of course. Right now, I'm talking about rules and structure, that kind of safety. I'm committed to that Dean." _I'm committed to you, Dean._ I hope that's what he hears, and maybe he will someday; once he grows out of his immature teenage mind. I hope it's not too late by then.

"If I had spanked you yesterday, I could have saved you the trouble with your papa. I'm sorry, Duck. This is to make up for that."

"I seem to be getting a lot of spankings on account of other people's mistakes," he says, but he's smiling. This is something Dean understands growing up in the family he has.

"Don't be smart. Over my lap."

When I have him there, I immediately feel his hardness, which fucking makes me harder, plus, I'm looking at his fucking spanked ass, and god, I just want to ram my cock into him. _Why oh why must you be so delectable, Winchester?_ The first spank I give him is for that reason alone.

He spreads his legs thus spreading his fucking ass cheeks, knowing me all too well, trying to entice me and laughs. "That's fine, you won't be laughing for long."

I make true on my promise, spanking him thoroughly, I want him to feel it as a gentle reminder for the rest of the night, but I don't want it to be near what I gave him Sunday. Because this is just a reminder; a reminder that I am here for him.

When I'm finished, I rub my hand over his tender cheeks and they clench just slightly. I've got the aloe right beside me; I rub it in carefully, letting him cry and release everything from this week; fundraisers, run ins with family members, Brad, even me, and anything else. I sense when he's done and stand him up. He wipes at tears. "Thanks, Michael. That was good, I…I needed that too. From you. It's different from you."

"I know."

"Fuck though, Michael. I'm so fucking horny, can we at least have round one before we eat anymore?"

I pull him over to my bedroom and he gets the wrong idea, smiling, thinking I'm going to fuck him. I retrieve a t-shirt and one of two pairs of pajama pants I own. I dress him.

"What's the deal?"

"We're not having sex tonight," I break the sad news to him. It's just as heartbreaking for me.

His jaw drops. "Oh my God. Is this like one of those sexual kinds of punishments like some of my parent's into 'the scene' friends do?"

 _And your daddies._ But he doesn't need to know that. "No."

"It's worse then. Are you…are you not attracted to me?"

Fool. I grab his hand and shove it down my pants. "Does that feel like I'm not attracted to you?"

"Oh, well when you put it that way." I take his hand away because it's causing me to leak. "Then why?"

"Because that's the only thing we do; fuck. We should do other things."

"And it's a great extra-circular activity. I don't recall being consulted on this. I'm an important member of the Michael-Dean board. I should have at least gotten to chair that meeting."

"Well I'm the fucking president. We're not fucking tonight, Dean. Besides, for that we both have to agree. Otherwise it's rape."

He laughs way too hard. "Rape is a serious matter," I say.

"It is, when it doesn't involve me raping you, because as if that could _ever_ happen. And my red ass you don't want to have sex tonight. I think you fucking do, but have some fucked up idea in your head that I plan on dissuading you from."

"Like you dissuaded Brad?"

"Oh. I get it now. Michael. You're being ridiculous."

Am I though? Brad must be awfully special if Dean Winchester is still with him after a week of no sex. "We're not having sex. Drop it."

"Lordy be, Michael. Fine," he huffs. "No fucking sex. It's just for tonight though, right?"

Probably, but I don't want him to know. "We'll see."

I dig out my other pair of pajamas and put them on. I decide not to wear a shirt. "I don't think so, if we're not having sex, you're putting a t-shirt on Michael Godfrey."

"Dear Lord, I've turned you into Daddy Winchester," I say, but put a grey t-shirt on. "And I thought I became a Winchester? You know, at the Sunday night cult meeting?" I tease. I'm actually quite proud of that.

"Yeah baby?" he says slipping his arms around me. "You want to be Michael Winchester?"

It's times like now, when he says things like that he sounds more grown up than he is and I get a flash of what I think old Dean must have been like. I bet he seduced a lot of game that way. I consider myself happily seduced by his words combined with his intense green eyes looking at me like that.

But it's old Dean's line, coming from Dean Winchester and he means it for me and no one else. "Oh my god you do want to be called Michael Winchester," he practically announces to the world and I can hear Tom chuckle in my office. I hope Dean didn’t fucking hear that.

"Shh. Don't say that so loud," I say without thinking, fuck. I'm still too fucking tired for this. Dean's smart and he'll figure shit out.

He does.

"Why? Is there someone listening in on us?"

I don't think there is, but I never really know. I took a chance when I had Daddy Winchester here, but I didn't have much choice. A lot went into planning that; Gabriel helped me. I'm ninety-nine percent certain no one heard that conversation.

And I’m certain no one's listening now, but I'm still cautious. And even if they are, so long as we're quiet, they can't hear us. "Tom is nearby," I say without telling him how nearby he is. "He can hear us."

"He's seen you spank me, I don't see how this is worse."

It's not a good lie; I know. "That only embarrassed you," I smirk. There. That's better; believable. But still a bad idea. I've just given a Winchester ammo.

"Michael Winchester. I like it. I'll call you Winchester for short, or even Michael 'Chester. Oh! And I'll have fucking bracelets made."

I'm blushing. I can feel it. I'd love a bracelet like that from Dean and if it were ever possible, I would change my name to Michael Winchester. But his teasing makes me want to throttle him. I glower with the blush staining my cheeks; it doesn't have the effect I seek.

He's laughing so hard he has to hide his face into my chest. "Oh my God, oh my God, check this out. Maybe instead of Michael 'Chester, I call you Chester and sometimes Chess, for short? You said you wanted a nickname…this one's totally Colt worthy. I'm a fucking genius."

"That's it. You're dead."

He runs and actually gets away due to my increased fatigue. But I'm still an angel and he doesn’t evade me long. He doesn’t seem to care that he's been captured, I drag him over to the bed, pulling down his pants as he struggles, when I get them down just enough to see skin, I wallop him twice. "Okay! Okay! I give," he's still laughing.

I pull him up to me and stare at him until I have to have his lips. I kiss him wildly, and he returns it with just as much fevor. Soon, we're panting and kissing and ripping clothes off. I'm still devouring his lips as we rut, naked against each other. Dean doesn't know (there's a lot Dean doesn't know) but he's the only one I kiss like this. I've kept my end of the bargain even if he hasn't. I don't care if doesn't. I know he'll care if I do and it's something else I can give him, since there are so many things I can't.

He suddenly pulls away and stares up at me with those green, green eyes. "Michael 'Chester," he says absolutely serious this time.

"Yes?"

"Will you please, for the love of all that is holy, stick your cock in me?"

Fuck it. Fuck not fucking. He's right; that was a stupid idea. Brad's an idiot if he doesn't want to fuck Dean.

I can't answer. I just nod. But I won't do it for all that is holy; I do it just for him.

I do make him wait though. I spread him open and lap at his hole with my tongue; he moans above me and it's the best sound in the world. His cock looks heavy and swollen already teased to his endurance with foreplay between all the spanking and the fucking. I don't make him wait too much longer, but I do lube up two fingers and scissor him open.

I place the head of my vessel's huge cock at this entrance and take in his lust filled aura. His entire body language is drunk with lust and I can't help, but tease his hole a little more, by circling the head of my cock there, directing it via my hand around the shaft. "You want my cock, baby?"

"Fuck, please. Please. I need you, baby."

That's all I need to hear. I slam into him and he grips me with his strong hockey legs. I kiss his neck, breathing him in and move every so often back to his lips; my lips are just for him.

I know he's close, so I make my next thrust good and deep, and glide over his prostate until he's cumming all over himself and I release inside of him, collapsing on his sticky cum covered stomach. "That was, amazing," I say. "We should delay sex more often."

"You're right, between my school and here, that was such a long time."

"I haven't fucked you in almost a week."

"True. You're a lot easier than Brad and I'm fucking glad for it."

"I've decided that guy is a fucking moron," I share my insight with him.

Dean laughs. "Maybe in that department; he doesn't know what he's missing."

And I hope he never fucking finds out.

~DM~

Michael's tired.

He thinks I don't fucking know, but I'm not stupid. I was a fucking hunter. I may not have all the skills I used to, but I can still read people, especially the ones I know well. It's just that unlike a hunter, I take what people say at face value a whole lot more than maybe I should. It takes me a little longer to figure out when I'm being played.

You know what I think? I think he was a lot more hurt than he let on. The other thing making me fucking suspicious, now that I'm thinking about it, is Daddy's behavior from this morning; because he was unusually mad at me. I chalked it up to him being crazy over the whole beans fiasco, but instead it could be the beans fiasco that caused him to slip up...which means he knows something and they're protecting me. And if there's anyone the two would have mutual purpose in protecting, it's me. I can't blame them, and neither can they me for doing the fucking same.

I shouldn't do what I'm about to do; but it's instinct. Instinct that's never gone away, which means it never will.

"Wow, that tired me the fuck out," I say casually, but truthfully (it's important the things I say to him be true) as I get up to clean myself off. He lets me and slowly gets up to do the same, but sits back down on the bed only having put his PJ's on. I put my borrowed clothing items on and make like I'm going to eat more food.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To eat," I say like he's a moron, like I would, making fun of him.

"Fuck Dean. Do you have to make this so hard for me? Are you more tired, or are you more hungry? I might seem human to you sometimes, but I'm not and I don't know which one is more important."

"Neither do humans. How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

He growls.

"Okay, okay. I have an idea. I'll bring one of these delicious tacos into bed with us, eat it and then I'll fall asleep right after."

"They're messy. If you get fucking taco in my bed Winchester…"

"I know, I know. You'll spank my ass. I promise I won't… _Winchester_."

He's not sold, but he's not saying no, so I go ahead and grab a taco from the table, then head back into the bedroom and sit against the place where a headboard would be, if he had a headboard, right next to my surly angel. When I show him I can be careful, using the wrapping to catch any stray shreds of lettuce, he relaxes. I eat. Really. Fucking. Slowly.

The whole time he's lying against me, just barely able to keep his eyes open, toying with the hem of my shirt and occasionally the skin below my belly button. I don't talk, and neither does he. I'm eating, he won't want me to choke and he'll want me to eat quickly since he's worried about me falling asleep.

He doesn't even notice when I've finished eating, so I begin carding fingers through his hair and I hum to him an old song my parents and uncle used to sing to me. It's low and soft and eventually, Michael's out.

The angel only ever falls asleep when he's dog tired (like Uncle Dal would say). Sure I haven't seen Michael much this week; I don't know what he's been up to; maybe he's had to do things for his father, things that have caused him to exert himself more than usual, making him this fucking tired. Sure. It's fucking possible.

But it's a little too fucking coincidental for me.

Something's going on and the worry over it pools in my gut as my angel sleeps soundly. If Daddy _was_ worried, then I'm worried too. I've seen Michael hurt before; it didn't take him this long to heal; it didn't take his limited grace long to make him better.

I know his father gives him grace sometimes now—now that he's proven himself, or however the fuck Michael put it. If he was this hurt, why wouldn't his father heal him? Why wasn't he in the least given extra grace?

Too many questions with no fucking answers.

I watch him sleep and fucking worry myself sick over him. Jesus Christ I've been an ass to him. Oh god. And he came to that fucking dinner Sunday all beat the fuck up. How beat the fuck up? I was too obsessed with my fucking self to figure it out. Daddy tried to tell me—he fucking came for me.

I start crying again, quietly. I'm pretty sure he won't wake up, but just in case.

He's still asleep when I'm done, so I just admire him. _Mine._ He's mine. And if anyone's fucking with him, they'll answer to me, and I'll kill them, with my bare. Fucking. Hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *There is still more to their Friday 'date' but this chapter is almost 12K. Thought you could use a reading break. I'll have the next part up soon. Started. Working diligently. 
> 
> *The song Dean hums to Michael is: Come Softly to Me by the Fleetwoods
> 
> Copy and paste into your browser if you want to listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DgJwm9erBaQ


	13. It's a new game: Distract the Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so we're never getting to Texas.
> 
> Kidding, we will, but these guys keep doing things.

Michael sleeps for an hour.

All that sex did make me tired, but my suspicious mind kept me a-fucking-wake. I'm sitting with my feet propped up on the bed, in a chair I brought in from the other room. I've had quite a bit of time to study Michael. Everything about him looks okay, but I know he's not okay and I have to figure out what to ask him, so he'll tell me what the fuck is really going on with him.

When he wakes up, I'm still staring at him with no clue what the 'right' questions are, just _a lot_ of questions. Whenever Michael wakes up he's not exactly groggy like a human, nor is he particularly spry. He's just awake. Like now. He notices I'm not beside him. "Dean?"

"How was your _sleep_?" I say accusingly. Okay. So I'm no James Bond.

His eyes narrow. "You didn't sleep?"

"No."

"What's going on?"

"I should ask you the same question. Tell me the truth Michael. What happened to you? Why's it taking so long for you to heal? You were hurt worse than you've been letting on, weren't you? How come your father won't give you enough grace to heal?" All my questions come fucking flooding out. I suck at this. I wonder how old Dean would have interrogated someone? I just have no fucking clue and nothing's coming back to me no matter how hard I try and remember. That skill must be wiped clean.

He takes a sharp inhale and makes it a slow exhale. "Yes I was injured a lot worse than I let on—I didn't want you to worry about me. My father wouldn't heal me this time; as punishment."

"That bastard. What kind of a sick and twisted—"

"Calm. Down," Michael says in a chilling voice. It does make me shut the fuck up. When he's sure I'm going to shut up, he pushes away the blankets I'd wrapped around him and gets up to retrieve something from his closet. "I was going to just surprise you and show up, but…"

"Show up? To what? No. Wait. Don't change the subject, you still haven't answered my question."

He looks angry now. "We did not retrieve the object that was spoken about on the night of the 'happening.' Father was angry. Fights broke out all over the place and I was injured, badly. Father had planned on punishing me anyway, for our mistake, but he said I could choose: Heal on my own, or no longer being able to go here, with you."

He hands me something. It's a ticket. An airplane ticket. To Texas.

"Y-you're coming? Oh my god you're coming? You're coming!" I fucking grab the ticket and jump around like a crazy person before squeezing the life out of him.

"You are becoming more Colt everyday," he says, but he fucking likes my reaction. He's smiling.

We're flying commercially this year. We keep trying every so often. My parents ran it by me and I said yes. I'm seventeen now; I'll be fucking okay. Probably. Though flying privately is pretty fucking rad. Papa and Daddy like to avoid being flashy when they can, so I know they would prefer to fly commercially—still first class of course—but they wouldn't mind flying privately if I needed them to. "I can't believe you're finally coming," I say and I really can't think of anything better. "But Michael, you were really hurt. Tell me the truth."

"The angel almost ripped my arm off."

"Jesus H, Michael. It still pisses me off, I mean that's an awfully terrible punishment—letting your ripped arm just heal when he could have fixed it in no time. Does he do shit like this often?"

"Not often. No. We're angels Dean. We work differently than humans. Besides, if father didn't punish me in some way, he would have looked weak in front of the other angels. They already think I'm spoiled. He felt terrible, but he had to do something. My relationship with Father has really come a long way since the last time he gave me Modlenol. It's good now."

"I still don't like it."

"I was given a choice. He would have healed me had I given up Texas."

"I didn't even know you were going. You should have given it up."

He does not look pleased with my answer; I have no idea why. "I wasn't going to pass up my chance to look after you in a strange far away land. You know how I get every year when you leave me."

Strange far away land. Jeez. It's Texas, not Narnia. "God Michael, I don't know what to say."

"That maybe you'll talk to me before jumping to conclusions again."

I scratch my head sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry. But why didn't you just tell me that?"

"Why do you think? Didn't want you trouncing off to speak with my father. He would not have taken kindly to it."

"I'm not an idiot—don't respond to that."

He barely stops himself laughing.

"Well it wasn't just you, Daddy was acting funny too."

"He knew. I asked him for help with my arm. He had his witch doctor fix me up."

"Oh." Makes sense. I've known a long time he and Michael share a special bond I think is a lot to do with Daddy know how to 'handle' the Michael and Papa types. I'm glad he can go to Daddy. "So you both conspired against me," I pout.

"Not against you. For you. Your daddy agreed with my prediction."

"Well I know now. Here's me not going to fucking Lucifer. I'm really not that dumb Michael. Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you, but not with this. I know you better than you think, Winchester."

"Why are you Winchestering me? I'm not going to go marching up to your father's house. I think it fucking sucks…I mean I'd _like_ to in a perfect world—"

"He got me a Ducati. You want to see it?"

"Fuck. Really?"

"Yeah. Pass me a shirt."

"I've always wanted to ride a Ducati." I pass him a shirt he slips on.

"Your daddy said you can't ride on it."

"What? That's horseshit. I'll bet Papa would let me. Let's ask him."

"When has your papa ever let you do something your daddy said no to?"

"Spider hunting," I smirk.

He shakes his head. "It's true what they say then, about human children. If you set a certain precedent, even once…"

"Let's ask him on Sunday. That will be fun. We'll need something to lighten the mood after all the work of the fundraiser, which by the way, I told Daddy you'd be there to help Sunday."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

"Yep. Come to the church around eight. Daddy will give you a job."

He doesn't look pleased, but it's in more of a 'I'll get you back for this Dean Winchester' kind of way. He takes me down to the underground parkade of his building and shows me his sweet ass Ducati. "Can I touch her?" I ask respectfully. I wouldn't want anyone touching Baby without my permission.

Michael nods and I run my hand along the red paint. Wow. "One little ride—he'll never know..."

"That man always knows. No way."

Fine. He probably has a point. I continue to admire her until he practically drags me away. "So you see? He felt badly."

"And you're okay with being bribed into forgiveness?"

"Absolutely. I told you. Angels are different than humans."

"And you wanted a Ducati?"

"Not exactly. It was more the gesture I appreciated. Father doesn't buy things for just anybody. But I do have to say, it is pretty…exhilarating, it's fast, reminds me of flying."

"You still remember what it's like to fly?"

"I do."

Once we're back in the loft I ask, "so what now? You sure you don't have tickets to Dally's concert in your closet too?"

"I don't. You're definitely grounded tonight."

"Gotta say, this is the best grounding ever. Tacos, sex, Ducati's, it's not like that at Casa de Winchester."

"I should hope not."

I laugh as he moves over to the stereo where he slips his iPhone into the dock and presses play.

"Sweet Child 'o' Mine?" I say.

"Yes," he says pulling me to him and starting to dance, swaying us back and forth. "I know this is your favorite rock song, despite the fact that Metallica is your favorite all around band of all time."

What is this? Dean trivia night? "Okay," I say not really knowing what to say to that. He keeps us dancing, putting his forehead on mine.

"I can't believe you're coming to Texas," I say again. "So that's why you and Papa had a secret meeting."

"Shall I start calling you Sherlock?" he says dipping me slightly and nibbling on my neck.

"Well I was really curious about that," I complain.

"How did you survive all this time? All the secrecy. All the lies."

I whack him. He laughs. "Well just wait. You might regret being able to come. Colts have their own sense of duty. We're going to have kids coming out our ying-yang. _'Just because we're visitors Dean Daniel, it don't mean we ain't gotta help out the family,'_ says Daddy, like every year. Ever notice how his accent comes back around his family? Papa's doesn't really."

"I'm just glad I'll be able to keep football head at a reasonable distance from you for a month."

He gets a funny look for that. "Why are you jealous over him? You've never been quite like this before."

"You've also never shown that much interest in anyone else before."

"That's not true. In sixth grade I had a huge crush on Emma Hammond."

"Who had absolutely no interest in you. You chased her around like a fool. That was highly entertaining for me. Why would I be jealous about that?"

"Aha! So you are jealous."

"Detective Holmes strikes again. I never thought I was making it secret."

"I don't get it Michael. Why not just tell me to stop?"

"Do you want to stop?"

I can't look at him; I look at his chest.

"That's the reason. You want it, Duck."

"Since when do you give me everything I want?"

"Since when don't I?" he says pissed.

"Like tonight. I wanted to go see Uncle Dally."

He pulls away from me. "You really are a spoiled brat, Dean." He means that. "If you're going to whine and complain over all the punishments I hand out, why don't you just go? I'm sure you can still get in. Clearly our agreement means nothing to you."

Whoa. He's fucking _hurt_. I can see that now. In the past, I would have just told him to fuck off, but I really am trying to learn something from Daddy and Papa. "Michael, I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't complain about punishments. That's not fair. I'd never have done that to Papa, in fact if I had, I wouldn't be going to any concerts for a long time. You deserve the same respect."

He's still not responding to me and has moved over to the couch. I approach him slowly; he's staring at the coffee table where there's a bunch of stuff. "What's all this?" It's hard to see Michael's coffee table from where I was in the kitchen eating tacos, then we spent the rest of our time fucking and stuff in his bedroom. I didn't see all this.

There's a soother, the one I found in the drawer from the other day, five stuffed Tiggers, a lot like the one I had when I was little, a t-shirt I gave him the only time we were even close to the same size. I was six and he _looked_ eightish again (another one of those long stories I'll have to save for another time for you), what looks like a couple of hospital bracelets and upon closer inspection I see they've gotta be from times I've injured myself playing hockey, but one has a really old date that has to have been something from when I was little, but I can't quite place it. Maybe when I fell off my bike? Not sure. There are ticket stubs to the first concert of Uncle Dal's we went to, back before we were fucking, which speaking of, there's the condom (unused still in the wrapper) from the first night we did have sex the first time, since I thought I would need it (always practice safe sex kids). There are more, all kinds of things, memento type things from various times in our life together. Most of them of good memories, but some from the not so good, yet important memories. And there's a bag of something I don't quite…what the fuck? I pick it up.

"Michael, are these fucking teeth?"

He looks embarrassed. "Just a few I stole and conned away from Daddy Winchester. I didn't understand the concept of losing teeth when you lost yours, especially since they took so fucking long to grow back. I was trying to collect them all, just incase I had to somehow use my grace to reattach them to your gums."

"You can do that?"

"I don't know, but if it came down to it, I was going to try."

"Um…that's real…thoughtful?" I really don't know what the fuck it is. "But maybe we can get rid of the teeth now, see? All there." I smile extra wide.

He gets up and snatches the bag out of my hand. "Those are mine." He puts them back to their 'spot' on the table, which I now realize is a specific set up in the whole Dean memoriam shrine. He's still pissed at me. I've got to turn on the Dean charm.

"So how come there are like, five Tiggers?"

"That's classified information. Let's just say, something 'happened' to Tigger and we needed a back up in case."

"Daddy already told me he was mutilated in the washing machine, Michael."

He still won't answer me. I pick up my old soother. "I don't even remember why I gave you this, but I can't believe you kept it. Are you hoping I'll be into baby kink, or whatever they're calling it in fanfiction nowadays?"

"I'm not into _baby kink_ ," he snaps at me. "Put that down."

Jesus Christ. I replace it in its spot and point at the next item of interest, so he doesn't get pissed at me. "What's that pile of rocks all about?"

"The day we met."

"The day we met?" I was like, one and a half when we met; I have no recollection of that, unfortunately. I know we met at the playground, 'cause I've been told that, but I don't have a memory; I was too young.

"There were rocks at the playground, I put some in my pocket when you weren't looking."

"Michael. Do we need to have an intervention? Are you a…Dean hoarder?" 

"I'm not a 'Dean hoarder.'"

"This is quite the fucking collection. Maybe you're _my_ stalker, huh?"

Still nothing. Fuck. I try to assess this situation calmly, so completely not like myself at all. He's been acting weird all night, well, for Michael weird. The somewhat formal dinner, trying not to have sex, favorite songs, the somewhat creepy collection of stuff from all the years we've been together…

I have to remember Michael's an angel. He's not human, no matter how much my brain sometimes thinks he is.

I'm coming up with nothing though. He can't be telling me he loves me; I already _know_ that. I mean c'mon. Sure I've been known to flip out and maybe accuse him of being an uncaring dick, but it's simply not true. Wait, let me clarify; he is sometimes an insensitive angel dick, but there's no way he doesn't love me.

I did go through a time when I was younger, where I thought maybe I was just his 'angel obligation,' but I realized there's no way I can be. Michael doesn't say the words 'I love you,' I don't think he understands love in that way, but to my understanding, I know he loves me, or at least cares deeply for me in a love-type way.

But does he know, I know, he knows, I know?

I kneel down between his knees, fully expecting him to tell me to get lost, but he doesn't, instead his eyes just look sad. "Michael, I'm a dick sometimes, you know that. I shouldn't be a dick about this though, it's too important and I can see you're really trying. You're doing an excellent job. I'm the one who sucks."

When his eyes have their amused smirk back, I know I've got my Michael back. "You're not quite that terrible, but I would give you a needs improvement on your report card."

He grips me underneath my armpits and pulls me up beside him.

After we (carefully) put away all of his Dean paraphernalia, we have more sex then _finally_ eat some more and when it's time for him to take me home we don't change out of his pajamas and t-shirts. I don't tell him that's not typical of a normal 'date,' since I've clued in that's basically what he's been aiming for all night. A date. I want him to think he did good.

He drops me off at the door, refusing to come in, but he gives me one hell of a goodnight kiss. "Thanks baby, that was a good night."

"I hope you learned your lesson, naughty boy."

Which reminds me. I had big plans on talking to him about that rule, but after what happened at the end of our night, I'm not so sure I should. But I remember what my parents always say about communication and this kind of thing, so I take a nervous breath and ask him anyway, and I'm probably a helluva lot more respectful than I was planning on being. "Um, Michael? You know that rule where, um, I 'run my plans by you?'"

"I'm aware of it, yes."

"I'm having a hard time with it. It's really hard to make plans that way and I feel like it's not really a 'run by,' like it sounded when we first made the rule—I feel more like I'm asking permission."

"And you have a problem with that?"

Sneaky asshole. That's exactly what he wants. "No, not a problem—"

"So we're good then."

" _Michael._ Look, it seems like you want to know where I'm going to be, couldn't I just tell you and if you or Tom are not around, you could then relay that information to me and I swear I'll cancel my plans."

He's considering it. "I kind of like the way we have it now."

Fuck. How would Daddy deal with this? "Okay. If you really need it that way, I can do that, I'm just saying it's been hard and it would be nice if we could find a way to meet both our needs on this one." Wow. That sounded so grown up.

"I think you need a whole lot more structure than you think you do, Dean. I think my way meets both our needs."

Seriously. He and my father need to stop talking. I don't realize my fists are balled until he puts his strong hands around each of them and gently presses a thumb into the middle of each to relax them. "I know it's frustrating for you, but that's all. You can do this and if you need help, I have zero problems doing that."

He has no problems spanking me he means. This is the first time Michael's decided to push me. He usually backs down; I mean I even talked him out of the no beans thing. "I can practically see what you're thinking Dean. Every time I've backed down on something like this, it ends badly, for you. I say we should keep the rule as is, at least for now. If we have to redefine it, I'm fine with that, but I want you to call me before you make plans."

This is frustrating. Remember all that calm and responsibility I was exercising moments ago? It's kinda going away. "I disagree. We need to agree Michael."

"And I gave you my reasons for thinking we need the rule. You don't have any legitimate reasons as to why we shouldn't. 'It's too hard,' is not a good reason and you know it."

"So now I'm supposed to _ask_ permission?"

"Yes."

"Fine. But I'm bringing this up Sunday at dinner. You still okay with it?"

"Please do."

Arrogant ass. "Goodnight then," I say without even a kiss.

But before I storm into the house I hear him say, "does this get me out of the church fundraiser Sunday?"

I turn back around. "You'd better be there, Michael Winchester."

I can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, "night, Duck." And walks off into the night.

~DM~

The house is quiet, but I still head to the kitchen thinking someone's still gotta be up. Daddy's there. "I'm just cleaning up, Cassy, see?" he says with his back turned to me, wiping down the kitchen counter.

"It's me Daddy."

Daddy turns around. "Oh thank the Lord," he whispers. " _Your_ father is driving me crazy, Dean."

I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. He must be annoyed if he's talking like that. But if he's annoyed, Papa's downright ticked. A day of working together, must have them re-put out with each other. I'm sitting at the table, having made myself a cup of tea when 'my father,' comes in. "Hey, Papa."

"Hello, son. You should be getting to bed after that," he says. It sounds like a suggestion. It's not. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day." You'll have to excuse him, as I'm going to, he's just on a tear right now because of Daddy.

"Yes, sir. And thanks for arranging for Michael to come to Texas."

"He told you?" Papa says.

"Yeah. Tonight." I tell them about my night, but leave out the 'rule' stuffs and the Ducati—I'll save that for Sunday.

"How many tacos did you eat, young man?" Daddy says displeased.

"They're the kind you like."

He frowns at me, but doesn't pursue it. It would seem that just because the beans are over, doesn't mean we are quite back to normal at Casa de Winchester. Everyone's still grouch-o. I decide bed sounds good. I gulp down my tea and kiss each of them goodnight. And hope to Christ tomorrow goes okay.

~DM~

"Dean?" Daddy whispers when I come down in the morning. I'm still rubbing sleep out of my fucking eyes. Daddy wanted me up at five am and even though I think it's fucking ridiculous, I'd rather not argue with anyone right now.

He hands me a cup of coffee when I sit on the bench at the kitchen table. He's already got the sliding door open, cool breeze of the morning is blowing in, with the faint scent of flowery-flowers. It's sunny and it's going to be hot, but thankfully not yet. "Why are we whispering, Daddy?" There's no way Papa didn't notice him getting out of bed.

"Because, I'm going to show you the list. Your papa tried real hard to get this from me yesterday, but I somehow managed to keep it away from him."

At least he's 'your papa,' again. "You're walking a line, Sur," I say like he does to me and I'm still fucking whispering.

"When I told him how much cornbread we needed, he cut it in fudging half."

Whoa. You don't mess with Daddy's cornbread.

"I can only imagine what he'd say about the amount of chicken I want to make."

I take a look at his list and almost have a fucking heart attack. "Jesus H, Daddy!" I whisper yell. "This is a lot."

I look into Daddy's large, sad eyes and I can see how important this is to him. I may not understand it completely, but I can see he's counting on me, his best friend, to help him with this. I really don't think we're going to get it all done, even with Uncle Dally helping us, but I'll give it my best shot. "Don't worry, Daddy. We'll get it done; Papa will never see this list."

Uncle Dal shows up at a reasonable hour, eight am, but it's pretty early since he just had a concert last night. "How'd it go Uncle Dal? Sorry none of us could make it."

"Don't worry about it half-pint. It was a last minute thing. Besides, I did have someone there to cheer me on."

Oh really? I want all the details, but we are kinda in the middle of fundraiser hell, so I leave it for now. Daddy shows Dally our list (yes, it's become my list too—I may have added a few things, told you I get dragged in with Daddy).

Dally starts laughing is ass off at us. "Really cowboys? Okay. All we can do is our best, let's get to it."

Papa must know to stay far away from us. We reach ten o'clock with no sign of him—I don't think Daddy misses him and have a good feeling Papa's doing that for him. Papa can't help but worry about Daddy, but he can also be a total sucker for Daddy.

Despite the stress of the time crunch hanging over our heads, we're having a good time. Right now we're three Colts in the midst of Colt chaos and it's a good feeling. Uncle Dal looks up at me from his task and suddenly busts out with a song. "Amazing, grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I was once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind but now I see."

I smile and join him. "Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved."

Daddy joins us. "How precious did that Grace appear, the hour I first believed."

When we arrive back at the chorus, we know to sing it as a round, then we're back to another verse we sing together. We're kind of a singing family, in case you haven't noticed. Not like the fucking Von Trapps…okay, maybe a bit like the fucking Von Trapps. But if I start singing 'How do you Solve a Problem Like Maria,' please fucking stop me.

We all laugh when we're done and Daddy's smiling huge. Ah. So that's why he did it. Uncle Dal seems to be able to sense Daddy's discontent and he's good a soothing him in a 'Colt' way. Daddy loves this stuff, he wants to have fun doing it, I'm sure he misses doing this with his family like crazy. That's probably all he's wanted this whole time, to have fun doing this. It's just not in Papa though. He needs things to be controlled and precise, he has to maintain order and minimize chaos. Colt functions are defined by their chaos.

We quickly decide on another song and are in the middle of it when Papa finally makes an appearance. "Good morning, family."

"Morning Papa," I say. "You come to help us make coleslaw?"

"Oh, no. Papa doesn't make coleslaw," he says.

"You made cornbread yesterday."

"And ask me how much I enjoyed it," he says raising his eyebrows. "I thought I'd get out of your hair." He moves over to where Daddy is and manhandles him 'till he's facing him, he puts his arms around Daddy's waist and pulls him into a kiss.

When he pulls away, Papa pushes Daddy's long hair away from his face. "You going to be okay if I leave you with these two?"

Daddy blushes. A silent understanding is reached between them. I think their weird brand of fighting has just come to an end. "Yeah, Cassy."

I can't believe he's not stopping us and that he's letting us be.

"You can close your mouth, Dean," Papa says. Dally laughs at me. "This is me waving the white flag. Sometimes a Colt's gotta do what a Colt's gotta do."

He kisses Daddy again and I would complain, but I can't tell you how fucking happy I am that they're finished arguing over this. Thank God I don't have to worry about them getting a divorce, I don't think I could fucking handle that.

"Be good, Dean," Papa warns me like usual. He says goodbye to Uncle Dal too and he's gone.

When Papa's gone, Daddy puts his 'secret' list on the table where we all can see it. "I think we have to split this into tasks and each work separately."

"That gives us eight tasks each, Sammy," Uncle Dal says doubtfully.

He's not really a doubtful guy; that alone is making me fucking doubtful, but then I remember. "Brad promised he'd come help today, but, um, he doesn't really know how to cook."

"We'll take all the help we can get sweetheart."

But it only takes a couple more hours for us to get stressed to hell. Why, oh why did Papa leave us? That was a bad fucking idea. It's not just Colt chaos like it was this morning when we felt like we had more time, it's insanity and it dawns on Daddy that we probably won't get everything done.

"I think…I think we're going to have to cancel some of this stuff off the list and maybe," he winces, "buy some of it." He looks like he's going to cry and it's breaking my heart.

Where the fuck is Brad?

Another hour passes and I'm up to my elbows in chicken batter, when Brad comes _sauntering_ into the kitchen, Donald obviously having let him in, looking all calm and cool while we're fucking stress maniacs. "Hey, cowboy. Look'it you! You're cute enough to fry up and take a bite out of."

I am not in the mood for jokes. "Just where have you been Bradley Davis? I'm about to fish fry you."

"Whoa, whoa. Easy, sugar. I'm sorry. I was held up corralling all these fine gentlemen. Come on in boys."

In storms a sea of red and white football jackets, but it's not just the football players, we've got the entire football family: It's all the cheerleaders as well. The kitchen is quickly packed. "You don't mind I brought all my friends, do you Mr. Winchester?"

The look on Daddy's face is priceless—he's fucking speechless.

"He doesn't mind at all young Bradley. We thank-you," Uncle Dal answers for him. They know each other from church.

Brad comes over to give me a kiss. "Didn't I tell you I'd take care of you?"

I nod. "You did."

Daddy gets his shit together, after wiping away a few happy tears; transforms into the Captain of his ship Sam Winchester and begins directing his crew. He knows some of their names, many of the kids are either from church, or the club, but others he meets for the first time. Daddy's good at that. He's kind and he's gentle (even while ordering them about), he's always kept that soft southern charm and even the kids meeting him for the first time immediately like him.

Many of the girls and a few of the boys are trying not to freak over getting to make coleslaw with Dallas Colt. I can tell they want him to sign something of theirs, but they're being polite. I'm sure Dally will do something nice for them, for helping us later. I have to hold my laughter when I catch them, staring at him stupidly, while he gives them directions.

Brad helps me batter four hundred and eighty chicken breasts, drums and thighs. We'll still have to bake them all then Daddy's going to warm them up on the barbeque tomorrow before people eat them. He refuses to deep fry them.

More singing happens. Dally starts a few more songs and everyone ends up loving it, which surprises me. Shouldn’t teens think this is 'uncool' or something? Maybe it's the whole, 'he's a country superstar and everything he does is cool,' thing.

Everything's a bit slower and less organized than if we had the Colt crew in here (I swear, that side of our family can read each others minds when it comes to this kinda stuff,) but we're getting stuff done and we're doing a good job.

"How we looking over here Dean Bean?"

No, I don't care he calls me Dean Bean in front of the football jocks and cheerleaders. They can go fuck themselves if they have anything to say about it. "Looking good Daddy. I think we can start baking."

"I can't thank you enough for this, Bradley. Really. This was great," Daddy says.

"You don't have to thank me Mr. Winchester, but you're welcome. 'Sides, I learned a lot over this past week. I can jar beans in my sleep and batter a chicken breast like nobody's business," he says to Daddy, but he looks at me fondly. I think Brad just liked spending time with me, no matter what he was doing.

"Well I insist on thanking y'all. And I will do."

~DM

Dal's got a round of, 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,' going when my phone rings. It's Michael. Dean's all wrapped up in Brad. They are pretty darned cute. He's got chicken batter on his nose; Brad wipes it off of him and kisses the spot. They laugh together. Then Dean hip checks him; Brad responds by leaning into him. It's just…so easy for those two, and I like Brad, so much, but I'm biased. I can't help being on Team Michael.

I step out to answer Michael's call.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester."

"Hello Michael. Everything okay?"

"Well, I think so. Is Dean okay?"

"He's here battering chicken breasts with Brad. You should come over."

"Good. And I'm not coming over."

"Did you not hear the 'with Brad' part?"

"I did, and much as I don't like it, I need ol' football head to keep him busy when I can't."

"What's going on Michael?"

"He's suspicious. I fuc-uugded up."

"Start making sense, Sur."

"Okay, okay. You can put your scolding voice away. I shouldn't have seen him last night, but I missed him so much; worried about him all week," he sighs. "I was tired."

Michael explains how he fell asleep on Dean, which caused Dean to go Inspector Gadget on him and he had to tell a truth-lie to send him off course. He used the Texas trip to distract him.

"I should warn you, I had to use one other distraction, you'll find out on Sunday—"

"You showed him your death bike. Michael, if I find out—"

"I didn't take him on it."

"You better not have. I will find out."

He mutters something that sounds like, "I told him so."

"Was it at least successful?"

"I think so, but…it's the oddest thing Mr. Winchester. I think he wanted to see if I'd fall asleep on purpose, I think he tricked me."

I get what he's not saying. It isn't exactly easy to trick an angel. But a hunter; a hunter could trick an angel. My arm hairs start to prickle.

"Thankfully, his interrogation skills are deplorable. I think there's more of old Dean inside of our Dean than we know; maybe than he knows. I'm not even sure he did it on purpose, but never the less, he did trick me."

"What are you saying we do?"

"Me? I was calling you for an idea. I barely distracted him; short of taking him for a ride—"

"No."

"It's better than him running to bloody Lucifer," he shout whispers.

I exhale, loudly. " _If_ it comes to that, I'm sure I can find it in my heart to forgive you, but _only_ if it comes to that. Otherwise you can sit on my naughty step for two days."

"That hardly seems fair."

"As long as you keep my son off that bike, we won't have to worry about any codes of justice I might offend."

He laughs.

"You think that's funny? I'm serious."

"I don't doubt it. I just can't wait 'till Sunday."

I decide not to ask. "Brad is a good distraction. Too good. There's got to be something wrong with the guy," I say to myself.

"Hmm. Do I sense a bit of favoritism?" I can hear his Michael smirk through the phone.

"Don't let it go to your head."

"It's too late for that, but to answer your question, there isn't. I already had the guy checked out and other than moderate steroid usage, he's clean."

Moderate? I guess his brothers are pretty large too, some of that size could be genetic. "I guess he's our plan."

"Much as I hate to say it, it'll be good he's with Brad." He says Brad with a nails down a chalk board annoyance.

"Well Brad's keeping him busy today anyway, you sure you don't want to stop by? Dean's been talked to about last time. The three of you need to find a way to get along. As long as you behave too..."

"I can control myself, but that's not why I'm not coming over. I think it's better I give him space today. He's upset with me."

I don't even want to know what those two are fighting about now. It sounds like I'm going to hear about it on Sunday anyway. "All right. We'll see you tomorrow."

~DM~

We get everything done, including the extra things I added…and even the ones Dally added (he is a Colt) and the kids have so much fun, that even the ones who are not members of our church, offer their help for tomorrow.

When Papa comes in and sees his house is over run by teenagers, his eyebrows climb onto his forehead. "What has the good Lord blessed upon me this time?"

"Wasn't the good Lord, it was Brad Papa." I smile at Papa and he nods his approval.

Daddy surprises us by ordering pizza from Mazetti's, the best pizza place in town (and the most expensive since they have Daddy approved quality ingredients). Over dinner, Daddy practically gives a speech thanking everybody.

"Your family's real cool, Dean," Mark says to me before he's leaving. "You and Brad free Monday at lunch? We should hit the school gym, like I've been saying."

I cran my neck to look behind me at Brad who's got his arms wrapped around my waist, crouched over since his chin is resting on my shoulder. "Let's do it babe," he says. "I'm free. My only plans were to hang out with you anyway."

"Okay," I say, though I'm not really thrilled about it. I like to _eat_ during lunch. But he's been bugging me since the party of doom, I hope this will get him off my back.

It's getting late and Brad says he's gotta go. I don't want him to go. I wish Papa would let me have boyfriend sleepovers. Fuck. Did I just? Yeah, I fucking did. I referred to him as my boyfriend. But he's not right? Dean Winchester doesn't do boyfriends or girlfriends I just, fuck.

Except we haven't fucked. I didn't mean it at all though. Least I didn't say it out-fucking-loud.

Brad notices I'm having a minor, internal conniption. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing babe. I just, don't know how to thank you."

"You don't owe me anything, but if you insist on it, I can think of a few ways…"

"I like the way you think, sugar. I have a place we can go. Be right back."

I catch Daddy and Papa, mid make-out, they hear me; jump apart and seem relieved when I tell them I'm taking Brad on a walk of the grounds.

I take him to ye old tree fort, better known now, as Dean's love shack. "Wow, sugar. This is some tree house," he says as his hand goes up my shirt, playing with nipple, his lips cover mine and his tongue is in my mouth.

My hands go to the waistband of his board shorts, I undo the tie and reach in to grab his nut sack, massaging it. "Mmmhmm. Feels good, babe. My cock was so hard for you all day."

"Yeah?" I start stroking said hard cock.

"Lord, yes. You looking at me with those pretty eyes 'a yours, not to mention your ass kept grazing my dick," he tells me between kisses.

"That was no accident, sugar." I pull my mouth off his in favor of pulling his pants and boxers off. "Get on your hands and knees, babe. I wanna make you feel, good."

It's almost ten and the sun's making its decent for the day, but there's still plenty of light I can see him and his massively huge cock. I spread his ass cheeks apart and lick up his crack, then use my tongue to play with his hole. He's already panting. "Feels, good. Jesus, Dean. Can you…can you put your finger inside?"

"Happy to oblige, sugar." I grab out some lube (of course I keep some in my tree fort), dribble some over his ass and rub it up and down his crack, then push my finger into his tight, presumably unused, hole, 'till it's encased in smooth muscle, sliding it in an out. He starts pushing back and moaning. Now what's the difference between my finger and a cock? I just don't fucking know, but I'm here to make him feel good tonight, so I decide not to be a dick and say anything.

Still twisting my finger in and out, I reach for his huge dick and pull it backward, so I can take it in my mouth. I know well the sensations of getting your dick sucked and your hole played with at the same time. It's an itchy, uncomfortable, dirty, awesome sort of feeling in your ass, mixed with the bliss of your cock all wet and sloppy.

Brad keeps pushing back, fucking my mouth and finger at the same time, and from the sounds he's making, he's fucking loving this. "Oh God, Dean baby, _fuck_."

I roll my tongue around the head and down the shaft, showcasing more of my talents. I can feel him getting closer and I'd say something brilliant like: 'Fill me baby,' if my mouth wasn't full of cock.

His thrusts become fast and jerky 'till I taste hot jizz in my mouth; of course I fucking swallow that shit, I'm a pro.

When I pop my mouth off his cock and take my finger out, he slumps down needing to catch his breath. "Jesus Christ Dean, where'd you learn how to do that?"  
"Learn? That's a Dean Winchester special, babe. Call it one of my natural talents, like hockey and shooting." I don't know if shooting is a _natural_ talent. I can't remember if I was a natural in my first life, but I do know that in this one, ever since my daddies permitted me to pick up a gun, I could shoot with it. They were both fucking amazed at my skill.

Huh. Guess sex could be from my first life too. Is it really possible for me to be such a man whore in both lives?

I lay down beside him and he flips to face me, his hand reaches out to toy with my bottom lip. "Will you marry me, Dean Winchester?"

My heart skips a half beat. I smack him.

"What was that for?"

"You will not ask me to marry you after a fucking orgasm high." I think it's the most assholish thing he's done so far. It's not really that assholish as far as assholory goes, but still. I deserve a lot more that and…fuck, the little flutter I got at the question confuses the fuck out of me.

"But I can ask you?"

Leave it to Brad to see that as a chance to score. "No. Now put your damn pants on," I huff and get up. Guess I'm pissed both the men in my life now. Speaking of, where the fuck was Michael today? He didn't even stop by. He hasn't called. Maybe he's still mad at me—what else is fucking new.

Brad puts his pants on and I can tell he feels bad. I know I'm over reacting. I know he means it; it's not just because he's sex drunk, I don't like how it made me feel.

He grabs my wrist, stopping me from leaving the tree fort. "Dean I'm sorry. Of course when I really ask you it will be amazing. I was trying to compliment you. Fuck, I'm sorry, don't…don't be mad at me." The pain in his voice fucking gets me and holy shit he actually dropped an f-bomb.

I let him pull me to him and he's trembling just the slightest bit. The big, strong, man child is trembing. He holds me and does some sort of breathing exercise to calm down. He lets out a big exhale. "Oh God Dean, I thought…I thought you were leaving me."

"Leaving you? I wasn't...I was just...forget it. It's not a big deal, I was being a spazz." I put my arms around him. "Can we just forget it, please?"

"It's forgotten." He pulls away. "I hate to leave you on this note sugar, but it's ten."

"Aw no. You can stay. I just have to be home by ten. They'll let you stay."

"They will?"

"Yeah, well, depending on Papa's mood, but if my guess is right, his mood is damn good right now. I'm fairly sure my parents are, um…" He doesn't make me say it, I can see he gets my meaning.

"In that case, let me make it up to you." He reaches for the waistband of my shorts.

To my fucking surprise, I stop him. "I think I'd rather, um, that is can we…"

"Are you wantin' I should cuddle you Dean Winchester?" he says laying his accent on extra cheesy and thick.

"The stars are coming out." Yes I'm the one who fucking said that, no I'm not possessed.

"Whatever you want, Dean. C'mere." He grabs one of the larger pillows and sets us up on the 'porch' of the tree fort, so we're lying with our heads on the pillow and he's got me all tucked into him, spooning like no tomorrow. "This what you wanted?" he says in my ear softly as he starts rubbing my back.

I take a deep breath and sigh into him. Is this what I want? Right now everything seems... "This is good."

We're quiet for a bit and my thoughts are scattered thinking about everything all at once.

"I gotta know if you forgive me Dean."

I laugh. "I forgive you."

"That scared the life outta me Dean and it made me realize something."

"Yeah?"

"I really can't lose you. I mean, I always knew it was going to be you in the end, somehow, some way, but I never felt what losing you might feel like. I just did and it's the worst thing I ever felt. I'm going to win your heart Dean Winchester, and I always play to win."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, fundraiser fun. We'll finally see what Hannah wanted. Sunday dinner, and hopefully Monday. _THEN_ Texas.


	14. This is the Dean of Our Lives (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but I must release this in parts. Else it's going to be too long. 
> 
> I WILL put the next bits up faster than usual. They will have the same chapter name and I predict 3 or 4 parts. 
> 
> And please have fun with these bits. There is a bit of angst, but I hope that some of it will be funny. 
> 
> I have 2 apologies to make. 
> 
> 1st to SanKatyLight--I couldn't get the promised father's day type chapter out for father's day, but I WILL write a TS. 
> 
> To Team Smite Brad--for the first part of this chapter; you won't like it so much. 
> 
> Okay...enjoy.

"C'mon Gracie May, let's get you all dressed up to see Grandaddy," I say to my sweet girl.

"Dean!"

"Yeah, babe?"

"How long does it take to dress an infant? Let's go. Team bus leaves in five minutes."

"Lordy bee Bradley, you wanna tell that to our daughter, she just woke up!" I yell down the stairs. "Papa and the boys can hold their horses, can't they?" I coo at her. "Beauty takes time."

I take my fucking time changing her diaper and putting the prettiest dress I can on her. I head out to the car and buckle her into the seat in the middle of her older brothers. "He's making faces at me Daddy," little Sammy says.

"It's not nice to tattle, Sammy," I say.

"Yeah, Sammy," Junior says.

"I better not catch you making faces at your brother, Sur."

"Hey! I thought you said—"

"Why hasn't Papa knocked your heads together, yet?"

"Hey don't look at me. I told them to knock it off. They were quiet 'till just now, baby," he gives me his boyish Brad smile I love.

I kiss him. "What's the hurry, babe?" I buckle myself in.

"Your parents said they want to set out before noon."

Oh right, we're going on the boat.

When we get there Daddy and Papa are standing there with Michael and another little boy, who looks just like Michael, but has green eyes like me. "Hey there, son," Papa says to Brad, embracing him in a warm fatherly hug.

"There's my special girl. Come see Granddaddy, Gracie." Daddy steals the baby from me.

"Hey! What am I, chopped liver?" I say to Daddy, but I'm only kidding. Being a grandparent looks good on him.

"You know I love you Dean Bean."

The boys are already chasing each other and tossing a football around the large yacht. "Hey you two, we don't live in a barn—tossing footballs around is for outside," I tell them.

"We are outside."

"Papa?" I say, he loves stepping in for this sort of thing I'll let him, I mean I am only seventeen, I don't know how to handle this stuff yet.

"I don't think so, Dean. I don't do that anymore. But you are right—do get them to stop."

What the? What happened to Papa? Handle this on my own? "Brad? Sweetie?"

"Aw, let'em have fun, Dean."

"Daddy?"

"What's that Dean Bean?"

"Oh just forget it." Why is no one acting like themselves?

"Can I be of assistance?" Michael says.

"Jesus, please."

"Here, take our son."

He hands me the sweet little boy and I sit him on my hip naturally. "Hey there, pumpkin."

"Hi Dah-dee."

We watch as Michael storms over to the boys, catches their football mid-throw, confiscating it.

"Hey!" Sammy says. "Daddy, he took our ball."

"I told him, to."

"Come with Granddaddy and Gracie May, boys, I've got snacks for you," Daddy says.

Finally. Someone acting normal. "Thank God, Daddy." He leads the boys away, I've still got the green-eyed boy on my hip.

Papa passes a beer to Michael and soda water to Brad and I and I drink one handed swaying…shit, I can't remember his name, Michael's and my son.

It's stressing me out that I can't remember his name. He cuddles into me and I think he's falling asleep.

Michael's watching me while Papa and Brad talk. "I caught my own pass, and scored a touchdown," he tells Papa. Why does that sound familiar?

The little toddler I love so, so much is asleep on me before I know it and fuck, I still can't fucking remember his name.

"Well you look about to shove off," Michael says finishing his beer. "We'd better get going."

"Going? You're not coming?" I say.

"Three's a crowd, come mini-duck," he says to our son who's fast asleep.

"But…no," I say as he reaches for him. "Can't he stay with me?"

"'Fraid not."

Suddenly the boys are standing with Brad and he's got Gracie. I can't see Daddy or Papa. Where are they? "C'mon, Sugar. It's time to go," Brad says.

"You have to choose Dean," Michael says as I clutch our son for dear life.

"I don't want to choose…I…Michael…"

"Give him here Dean."

"No." I don't even know his name.

"Then you have to come with me too," Michael says.

Little Gracie starts crying. "Daddy's coming sweetheart," Brad says to her.

I take a step toward my baby girl, Michael stops me. "Give me him first, if you want them, have them, but you don't get him."

But I love him.

"Michael please," I start backing away and back right into Papa who's there again. "Oh thank god, Papa. Can you please explain to Michael why he," the little boy on my hip, "has to stay with me?"

"Sorry Dean. You're and adult now, you've got to figure your problems out all by yourself."

What? That doesn't sound like Papa at all. "Papa, I'm only seventeen. Please, help me."

Papa's gone and it's just Michael and I now, the little boy is gone and I've got Gracie May instead. "Where is he? Where did he go? Michael, what did you do with our son?" I start to crying and so does the baby, I bounce her.

"Don't cry Duck. Who are you looking for?"

"Him. Our son. Don't be an ass."

"We don't have a son Dean. You have two sons with football head and her."

"C'mon Sugar, it's time to go…" Brad says.

"Wait. I've got to find him. Michael, please."

"Sugar wake up, it's almost time to go," Brad says. No wait. That's not Brad. It sounds more like Daddy.

"Dean Bean? Sweetheart?"

I come crashing awake and stare at Daddy, who's looking at me funny. "Oh thank God, it was just a dream."

Daddy shakes his head. "Get moving, Sur, or you're going to be late."

"Time izzit?" Wow, I slept right through my alarm. Brad stayed 'till midnight then we spent all night texting when he got home.

"Six. Get dressed and come down for breakfast."

I do and though Papa looks like he's in a better mood than he has been of late, he's got his, 'I'm unimpressed with you, young man,' look on. I have no idea what I've done this time, but boy am I ever glad to see it. "'Morning Papa," I say.

"Just what time were you up 'till Mr. Winchester? You knew you had to be up early. I expect you in bed early tonight."

"Yes, sir. Anything you say, just promise me something?"

He and Daddy are both looking at me funny now. "Dare I say yes?"

"Please never stop being you."

"What?"

"You know? Tell me what to do, like you just did and some day, if I have kids who are playing football on your yacht—"

"If my grandchildren are foolish enough to play football on my yacht, they'll be over my knee and you'll be next. Understood?"

Music to my ears. "Yes, Papa." I smile so wide it hurts my face.

Daddy gives me orange juice and breakfast. "Football on a yacht?"

"Yeah, in my dream. I had all these kids, but I was only seventeen and so was Brad. I don't know how old Michael was, but we've never known that. And no one was acting right, well except you Daddy. You took my baby and ignored me."

"I'd never ignore you Dean Bean."

"In favor of your grandbaby? We'll see."

"How'd I look, all old and granddaddy-like?" Daddy says.

"Actually, you both looked the same as you do now, like you hadn't aged at all. It was a messed up dream."

It creeps me the fuck out all through breakfast, but thankfully by the time we get to the church it's long forgotten…almost.

~DM~

"Here you go Cassy, I'm giving you an important job—you're going to assign everyone to their station."

I'm not stupid. I've been given the 'get the top out of the way' assignment. Not to mention, he's already done it all for me. All I have to do is look at the sheet he's written out and point. That's okay, I plan on sorting him out later _and_ our son, who I'm pretty sure was up all night on his cell phone.

They think I don't know what they get up to. I simply allow them a certain amount of chaos. Sam is a full Colt and Dean's at least half, I know what my boys need. I also know when they need to be set straight.

Michael comes sauntering in, Sam's still standing over me; I'm seated at the table at the entrance to the church. "Hello, sirs," he says to both of us. At least the boy is respectful.

I nod and am about to tell him where he goes, do _my job_ , when Sam steps in for me.

"You're at the bean station, Michael."

"Beans?" he says his outrage apparent. "If I never hear about pickled beans again, it will be too soon."

"Fine, I can move you to the jam station, but that means Brad will be with Dean on the beans."

"The bean station is fine, sir." He heads off in that direction.

"That was my job," I complain.

"Sorry, Cassy. I didn't mean to take your job. I'll leave you to it."

I shake my head. "Come here a sec."

He prepares himself for a scolding, but I pull him down by the neck of his shirt to my lips and kiss the hell out of him. "Be good, Baby."

A few of the other parent volunteers arrive and I direct them to their location, I also take a peek over at Michael and Dean. They're setting up their bean station, like they're supposed to, but they've got a bit of tension between them. It doesn't seem to matter, they still move like a well, oiled machine, while Dean gets ticked at Michael for something I can't hear, and the look on Michael's face says he's saying one of his witty rejoinders in return. That cracks Dean up and they laugh 'till they end up staring at each other. Michael reaches out to touch Dean's face, Dean smiles at him shyly; it's like they've never met before and are falling in love again right before my eyes. Then Michael leans in to give him a chaste kiss on the lips—my son is swooning.

The beans are soon forgotten as Michael pulls my son to him and Dean responds in kind grinding against him. "Dean Winchester!" I shout across the isle. We've got tables set out all across the grass in front and behind the church, with plenty of room left for people to lay down picnic blankets. There are games in the parking lot as well as the large tent with food, where Sam will be most of the time. He'll be all over the place, really, but I know the food will keep him busy. When this job is done, I'm definitely going to check on him.

Dean remembers where he is and pulls away from Michael, dropping him like a hot coal. "Sorry, Papa!"

I shake my head at him, but leave it at that. Teenagers.

At around nine am, Brad shows up with his football family. I assign them all to their respective table, or game, or station as per my Sam chart. Brad looks disappointed to be without Dean, but he doesn't complain.

He's been seeing a lot of my son lately and I think it's time to start turning up the heat on this boy. Whoever gets my son in the end has to get through me first. Michael's put in a lot of hard work, has even won some points with me over the years, enough that I've essentially said yes to an official courtship between the two. Yet I still don't know I want to give _my_ son to that cocky, know it all, angel.

But now there's Brad. I didn't think this thing between him and Dean was serious, but after yesterday, I need to reconsider. Either way, Brad has his work cut out for him.

By nine thirty, my miniscule job is done and my real job can begin. First I go peek in on Sam. He's clearly in Captain of the ship mode, running around like a Colt with his head cut off, ordering people around, getting ready to do the food for the lunch, which is in two hours. I don't let him see me and sneak off to check in on our son.

"Michael can you take over for me for a sec? We're running out of fives, I have to go see if we can get more, or we're fucked."

He's lucky Sam can't hear him.

Dean leaves and Michael's left watching the Bean stand looking unimpressed. I'm about to leave and follow after Dean, but I see Brad approach and can't help but want to hear what these two say to each other. I swear, my son's life is becoming a soap opera. _This is the Dean of Our Lives…_

Michael smirks at him with his Michael smirk, sitting back in his chair, amused that the giant human is approaching him. "Hey football head," he says.

I have to snicker at that, it is kinda funny. The kid seems nice, but he is _obsessed_ with football; I'm surprised it hasn’t annoyed the fuck out of Dean yet—Dean must like this kid a lot.

Brad looks like he wants to pummel Michael; he's definitely holding back. "Look, I know you don't like me. I don't like you much either."

"Thanks for taking the time to come over here and state the obvious, run along now little boy."

Wow. Michael really does hate this kid. Does he feel threatened by him?

"I was going to call a truce, for Dean's sake. _That's_ why I'm here. You don't deserve him, you know."

"And you do?"

"Probably not, but I'm going to spend my life trying to be worthy of him."

Fuck the kid is smooth. Where did this kid come from? I like what I'm hearing so far.

"So we're two unworthy opponents fighting for the same, 'prize.'"

"Dean isn't some prize. This is exactly what I'm talking about. You think you own him—that he's your possession. I see the way you treat him."

"I don't think Dean is a prize. I was speaking in metaphors, but I guess that's too much for your tiny football addled brain to comprehend."

Brad has to work harder to hold himself back. "Look buddy, I came over here to form a truce for Dean's sake, but I can see you're just an unreasonable Prick. Forget it. But know this, your time with Dean is up. There's only so much of your bullshit he can take, especially when he has something better on offer."

Michael smiles wide. He's toying with him and he's won, Brad's angry. "Thank-you for the news flash. I'll be sure to note that. Anything else?"

If Brad wanted to pummel him before, now he's going to do it.

"Yeah, one more thing. I'd rather not use violence to get my point across, but I'm prepared to in this case. If you continue to hurt Dean, I'm going to have to do something about it."

Michael acts just as he should: A spider who's just been threatened by a fly. Brad really has no idea who he's dealing with. "I sincerely hope you do."

Brad's about to walk away, but Michael stops him. "Oh, I do have one thing to tell you, Bradley; something you might be interested in."

"Yeah? What's that?"

His voice goes a little lower, but I can still hear from where I am. "You know what the loveliest sight in the world is?"

"Okay, Michael, I'll bite, what?"

"Dean moaning beneath you, with your cock up his ass—you should try it sometime."

Yeah, yeah. You don't have to say it: Eavesdroppers seldom hear things they want to, I've told Dean often enough. I know Michael is fucking my son; I'm not stupid. No I don't like hearing what I just heard, but I think I know what he's up to. It's very twistedly…sweet.

I still want to skin Michael alive.

That one sentence got Michael everything he wanted. Brad is flustered. That's when Dean comes back. "Okay, what's going on you two?"

"Nothing at all, Duck," Michael says. "We were just forming a truce, weren't we Bradley?"

No he didn’t say football head, but the _way_ he said Bradley reminds me a lot of football head.

"Hey Sugar. Yeah, I came over here to form a truce."

No one's lying per se, but they're not telling the truth either. Dean knows; they're not exactly doing a good job of hiding their animosity. "Right you two. Just play nice, or I'll kick both your asses."

That's my boy.

"Well I'll come by later, Sugar. Will you grab a bite with me?"

Dean looks back at Michael, Michael doesn't say a word or give any inclination of his thoughts on that matter. "Let me get back to you, babe. I might have to help Daddy later anyway—he doesn't have enough Colts."

And that's my cue. Dean must have caught a glimpse of Sam to say something like that. I'd better go find out what my dear husband is doing; I'll have to tune in for another episode of _This is the Dean of Our Lives_ later.

~DM~

"What the fuck Michael?"

" _He_ came over here. I was minding my own bean station."

"And I'm sure you did nothing to provoke him? Glaring at him across the isles counts for nothing does it? Don't think I didn't see."

"Oh that." He smiles not apologizing for his behavior at all.

"I'm warning you, Sur, behave yourself."

"That's hot—going all Daddy Winchester on me. You going to put me on the naughty step baby?"

"Ew. Michael."

He laughs and pulls me to sit on his lap. "You're cute when you get all scoldy—I like it."

That reminds me. "Well you should have seen me scolding away in the dream I had, more like a nightmare."

"Oh?"

I give him the Cole's notes and I think he'll be laughing, but instead he's pissed. "You couldn't remember _our_ son's name, but you had three special names picked out for _his_ spawn?"

"It was a fucking stupid nightmare, Michael. Like I had any control over it."

"I know you sit there at lunch talking about things like that, naming your fucking children."

"Oh my God. I can't believe we're fighting over this, it wasn't even real, it was supposed to be funny."

"Well it's not. Poor mini-duck."

That gets me. I remember his sweet little face. Truth be told, it fucking bothered me I didn't have a name for our mythical son either—it's not like we're ever going to have one, but it still bothered me. "He didn't have a name, bcause he's never going to exist, so don't fucking make me feel guilty with this bullshit Michael."

"Neither are your other 'children,'" he says, clearly without thinking. "But they still get names."

"You're an asshole. How could you say something like that? You wanna know the real reason he doesn't get a name? Because I want it so bad, so fucking bad _with you_ , I don't even want to entertain the fantasy. If I come up with a name for our kid, I'll want him Michael and it will hurt too much. But you don't have to worry about my 'other' children, they'll never exist either, will they? Because I'm fucking stuck with you."

I'm surrounded by fucking pickled beans, tears tracking down my face, and a frozen angel beside me. That was enough to shut both of us up. I wipe away my tears quick when the next customer comes; sell eighteen jars of beans to one lady (people are loving Daddy's beans) and slump down in my chair to sit in silence with said frozen angel. Neither of us can look at each other. We both said the ultimate, in dick level things to one another, so all we can do is sit in fucking death silence.

"Duck, I…" Michael starts to say, but we're interrupted.

"Dean. I've been trying to get a hold of you for days. Can you take a break?"

I've never been so fucking glad to see Hannah. I finally look at Michael. He nods, "I'm okay on my own. I think we need more fives again, can you bring some back? And see if you can get your hands on some Windex for me. Some of the bean jars could use a wipe."

Fuck. Michael's going angel OCD on me. I shouldn't leave him, but I could use a fucking break from this shit. "Sure, Baby. I think I know where I can get some Windex." I make sure to kiss his cheek. We fight, say and do shitty things to one another, but it doesn't mean I don't fucking love him like stupid.

Hannah and I walk away, down the many isles of things for sale, but I don't bother looking. "What's up Han?"

"Not here Dean. Somewhere private."

Fuck. I'm about to have another bomb dropped on me, aren't I?

I take her to the Impala. I drove since we needed extra vehicles to bring all the shit Daddy needed to. I open the back seat for her, I'd rather us attempt to hide if we can and from here we can duck down if need be.

She slides in and all the way over, I hop in after her. "What's going on?"

"I did it, Dean. You've been all Sweet Valley High with your love life lately, so I did it myself and I did a damn good job."

"I have not been Sweet Valley High."

She rolls her eyes. "Even the fact that, that's the first thing you're concerned about…I have ground breaking finds Dean!"

"Shh!" I say looking around. Fuck, I'm so fucked right now. I have a bad feeling as to what her 'finds' are and I should stay far away from said finds, but she's my best friend and I'm worried about her. "Okay, Nancy Drew, lay it on me."

"I went to visit Old man Miller."

I smile at her, because that's something like what they'd say on scooby-doo…old man Miller, that cracks me up. "And he believed you were a junior police officer, or whatever?"

"No silly. I couldn’t use that without you, I was Ann Wilson, reporter for the school paper working on a special graduate issue."

I don't point out how that's just as ridiculous, not to mention all the things that could have gone wrong with her plan. From the look on her face, it somehow managed to work and I'm glad she waited 'till after she'd executed her plan, to tell me.

"Mr. Miller is crazy Dean. Like, legit insane, wait 'till you hear what he told me."

That explains it. Only someone crazy would believe something crazy. "Insane? Hannah, you could have got yourself in real trouble."

"No, not that kind of crazy. The harmless kind of crazy, like you know, believes in spirits and things."

Oh, sweet, sweet, Hannah. I want to face palm.

"Mr. Miller, technically Dr. Miller, is totally the kind of guy I could see at Comic-Con, but that's not why he's insane, he's obsessed with myth and archeological stuffs. He reminds me a lot of Indiana Jones, because he actually is an archeologist; has his Ph.D in Archeology and is kinda cute in a Harrison Ford type way—it's why he's away a lot. He's a smart guy, really cool and crazy. He was more than happy to give me something to write about; he thought the kids should know what happened—he said the police wouldn't believe him."

I know why all of that sounds familiar; I've heard that last line before, even if I can't actually recall a time when I've heard it—I just know. I know who I used to be; it's all, eerie, déjà vu like feelings because I don't _remember_. Even the stuff I do remember is fairly hazy. My skin prickles.

"He said it was demons Dean. Demons! See? Crazy right?"

"Yeah. That is crazy. I mean who would believe that?" Oh God. No one I hope.

"I know right? For a moment, I thought he was onto me and inventing a story, but then he took me to see some of his archaeological finds, Dean, I wish you could have been there with me; it was so fucking fascinating. I think I'm switching my major—I want to be an archaeologist. Dr. Miller said I could be his apprentice."

"Jesus Christ, Han. You go over there once and now you're the man's fucking Luke Skywalker? He thinks your name is Ann Wilson—how's that going to work?"

"Quit raining on my parade, I'll figure all that out. Anyway, he took me way down into this crazy secret room and showed me some of his cool finds, but there was something he wasn't showing me and I'll bet there's a secret-secret room in his secret room."

"I don't mean to rain on your parade again, but if this guy is crazy, what's to say he wouldn't lock you up in that secret-secret room? Add you to his fucking collection?"

"I'm telling you, he wasn't _that_ kind of crazy. Dr. Miller is a sweet man."

"With secret vaults and believes in demons…"

"Shh. Just listen. I'm so fucking smart, you're going to love this. I asked him what demons could want from his collection and you know what he said?"

I'm afraid to ask, but I say, "what?"

"Demons aren't the only ones who want it. Angels want it to."

That's when my blood runs cold.

All of this I knew. I know about 'the object,' I know both Angels and Demons are looking for it, but the way she's leading up to her climax (pun intended) gets me all fucking juiced again. My heart starts beating hard, probably in response to the fucking cold blood.

"He wouldn’t tell me what the object is, said he'd like to, but couldn't actually, and that he didn't have it anyway, but I figured it out. This is the part you'll like. I bullshitted like never before and asked him if he couldn't just give me a hint. Do you know what he said?"

"What Hannah?" I wish she'd just get to it. I feel like I'm in a fucking soap opera the way she's dragging this out for weeks.

"And as we wind on down the road. Our shadow's taller than our soul. There walks a lady we all know, who shines white light and wants to show, how everything still turns to gold. And if you listen very hard. The tune will come to you at last, when all are one and one is all."

"But…that's the lyrics to Stairway," I say fucking confused.

She smiles and waits for it.

My heart starts fucking racing as I do fucking figure it out. The lady who's sure all that glitters is gold…Fucking Lucifer is buying a stairway to heaven.


	15. This is the Dean of Our Lives (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got some questions as to if GUW is still updating and it is, just wanted to catch these two stories up. So you may be happy to know, I've begun the next chapter of GUW (I miss little Dean too!)

"The object is a Stairway to Heaven?"

"Yep."

"But I thought you said he wouldn't tell you?"

" _Couldn't._ I figured it out, once I guessed he was able to confirm it."

"All of this sounds suspect. I'm going to suspend the obvious reasons and assume you know them and jump right to this one: Why would he tell all of this to Ann Wilson, student reporter?"

"He was hoping I'd tell more people; he's worried—he thinks the end of the world is nigh and that it's all a big police cover-up."

This time I do face palm. "Look Hannah, don't tell anyone else this, okay?"

"Of course not—they'll just think I'm nuts."

"You weren't afraid I'd think you're nuts?"

"You already know I am."

To tell her, or not to tell her…I don't fucking know. I've got to keep her away from all this bullshit, but what if this just drives her to it?

"Anyway, it's just some kooky old dude, but what a story!"

"Is your curiosity satisfied?"

"Well, yeah, I mean I want to see what this thing looks like, but not even Dr. Miller knows where it is. It's ancient, some old, old, secret."

I can't help, but wonder why 'they' thought he had it.

"Pretty cool though, huh?"

"Yeah. Cool."

"You don't look like you think it's cool. The Stairway to Heaven is just some legend, anyway. These 'demons' and 'angels' looking for it are on a wild goose chase."

"Do you believe that part? About the demons and the angels?"

"No. They're probably just some gang thinking they can cash this 'rare' object in for a whole bunch of money—like I said, the guy is nuts."

I'm glad she thinks so. Saves me a whole bunch of explaining.

"What's wrong? You look upset. Oh, let me guess, Michael? Or is it Brad this time? He's been too perfect, you two have got to fight sometime."

"Michael," I go with. Not only is it true, it's usual. I'd rather her think I'm 'upset' over my love life. "And a little bit Brad. I've got to figure out which one I'm going to the picnic with."

And speaking of Michael, I've got to find fives and Windex and get back. I hop out of the car.

She does too. "I'd like to help you out, but I'm going with Mark."

"You're staying? I thought these church functions were you know, too churchy for you?" Hannah and her parents aren't members of our church; they're the 'God has no religion types,' and they're a bit hipster, so they don't really do the 'church' thing, but since this church fundraiser is something we put on for the community (so they can give us money for our church) Hannah came with us last year. She swore she'd never come again.

"I'm here for the food. Your daddy makes the best food and I want some pie."

"You can just come over to the house for that."

"And I want to make-out with Mark in a pew."

Okay, that's fucking funny. "You're the best Han."

"I know. But what I was going to suggest; how about take someone else all together?"

"Like who? It can't be a football family member because of Brad—I think that might start another kind of fight and all the others are either taken, or so not believable for me to be seen with."

"How about her?"

"Harlow? She's like an older sister." She is hot though and almost thirty. I've never hit that; I think Daddy would have a fit. I'm not exactly sure why, I just do.

"Which is perfect. It looks like she's just here with friends."

"I'll think about it."

When I leave Hannah, I somehow manage to find fives (Mrs. McCleary the treasurer still has a bunch in the petty cash, thank god) and Windex and a clean rag (in the church's cleaning supplies storage room). I also stop and grab a snack off of Daddy, I'm fucking starving, as well as something from the other tables of ladies who have brought things. I haven't eaten since breakfast. The lunch has begun, but I've still got to man the beans for another hour 'till we shut down.

I head straight back to Michael, who's helping old Mrs. Ableman stack beans into her little white gramma grocery cart—she's buying like twenty jars and all I can think is 'thank God, that's, one hundred and twenty dollars, we don't have to give away our fucking fives for change.' The usual order is one or two jars and people hand us twenties. That's a lot of fucking fives we have to give away.

"Hello Mrs. Ableman," I say.

"Hello, dear. How are you Dean? You're so big now. I still remember when you were a little mite, running around this place giving your daddies heart attacks."

"I'd think they'd say I still do. I'm good. Thanks for buying so many beans."

"They're the best. I'll do my best to say hello to your daddy and papa, but you'll pass along my thanks, won't you dear?"

"Yes, ma'am. Do you need help to your car with those?"

"I'm okay. I am getting older, but I've still got a little spunk in me. I can get this cart there."

Mrs. Ableman. Such a sweet old lady.

"How are sales?" I ask. I can feel the weird tension peeling off of Michael and all of the bean jars we've got on display are awfully straight.

"It's crazy. I know we were selling mostly one and two this morning, but we've had orders more like Mrs. Ableman's since you left. One lady bought fifty jars, said she was using them as Christmas gifts."

I shrug. "Whatever you're into. I, uh, got you one those pretzel things you like."

"Awesome, but fuck, Sam didn't see, did he?"

"Am I stupid? I got one for me too." Mrs. Barker always brings these special pretzel buns, but Daddy won't let either of us eat them. Michael tried explaining to Daddy once, that he's an angel and there is no possible way a pretzel bun could harm his vessel; that conversation did not end well for Michael.

We keep them hidden as we eat them, feeling like thieves and continue to sell beans. When Michael's finished his contra-bun, he starts on cleaning the jars a little with the Windex, both of us not knowing how to fucking address the major lines we crossed. Sorry just doesn't seem enough.

We're both heartbroken and regretful. He's nervous in a way I've never seen him be nervous. I'm jittery, which is maybe the same fucking thing.

He has to put his Windex down when we suddenly get an over pouring of people at around twelve forty-five. Beans fly out of the boxes and off the table so fast, we can barely keep up.

"I heard about these beans from…"

"My son told me these are the best beans and to make sure to get ten jars…"

"My daughter insisted I stop by on my way to…"

Many of the people end up being 'football family parents,' or aunts, or grandmother's, uncles, friends, even cousins.

Brad stops by again toward the end of our bean rush. "I wanted to make sure to get my jar of beans while the most beautiful bean merchant in the county was still here. I'll take six and I've got exact change," he winks.

Michael's busy helping other customers. I put Brad's order together. "Did you send all those people?"

"What people?" he says innocently.

"The football people."

"Word may have gotten around, but it wasn't just me—the whole team mentioned it, here and there. We take care of each other; I told you Dean."

I smile at him. "Daddy'll be happy. I think we're going to sell out. He'll get to tell Papa 'I told you so.'" Not that he actually will, though Papa is going to have to suffer through a few rounds of, 'if only we had seven hundred jars, Cassy,' before Papa puts a stop on him.

"So how about that picnic, Sugar?"

"I finish here in half an hour. I'll text you if I can, okay?"

He nods.

"How are jam sales?" I ask before he heads off.

"Sold out an hour ago—we didn't have five thousand jars to sell. I've been walking around with Ryan; he's gone off with Kelsey."

We sell out way before two, but Michael and I are busy right up until the last jar. We do smile at each other when the last one is gone feeling accomplished.

"I know Brad wants you to have lunch with him; I think you should."

"Why? Because you feel guilty about before?"

"Yes. Besides, I'm going to see you tonight."

I nod, and look around this time before I kiss him just in case Papa's around. He caught us earlier this morning and I thought he was going to kill me.

"Okay, I'll see you tonight. Where will you be 'till then?"

"I'd better go see if Daddy Winchester needs help if you're not."

~DM~

I might as well have just directed Dean and Brad's sex tape, because I think I've sent Brad head long into sex with Dean. He's going to catch a pass in the fucking end zone. Not only that, but I've made Dean irreparably hate me.

I did it half on purpose. The sex part not the hating. I never want Dean to hate me. I know he would like football head's huge ogre sized cock…at least he did and if he still does I want him to have it, even if I don't want him to have it. I'm a stupid, love-sick fool. No wonder humans have so many songs about this ridiculous feeling. It makes you utterly miserable three times as much as you feel a smidgeon of pure joy.

I slink over to Daddy Winchester who looks to be in his element. He's stressed, but not overly so. I'm sure Papa Winchester had something to do with that, but he's nowhere in sight—thankfully.

"May I be of assistance?" I say like I'd rather be jumping off a bridge. Not that, that would do anything for me, I mean it metaphorically. _Human_ metaphorically.

Sam takes the time to look me over. "What happened to you? No wait. I don't have time at the moment for the Dean and Michael soap opera. I'll be all ears later, but right now I'm working. I'm actually all good food wise, but I have one really strange job that needs tending to, and I know it's something you're good at."

"What?" I'm actually afraid to ask.

He reaches into a stroller I didn't see and pulls out a sleepy little guy, with dark hair. He looks pissed off.

"You're looking after a baby while you do all this?"

"I've done much more looking after several babies. He can stay with me if you'd really rather not, but he'd be better entertained with you."

"How did it get here?"

" _It_ is Michael and I offered when his mother had an emergency."

The man is insane. Orchestrating all this, while offering to look after toddlers. Sam is smiling far too wide, loving the fact the child shares my name.

"Michael? Really? What's his middle name, Dean?" I say sarcastically.

"Yes."

"Really?" I say again.

He's laughing. "No, but you should see your face."

"Not funny," I snarl.

"Here," he says handing it off and leaving me no choice but to take him and slinging a diaper bag over my shoulder.

"I didn't agree to this."

"I thought you were offering your help?"

"Fine." I set the child on my hip and he curls into me, not seeming to mind that I'm a total stranger. He's still asleep and sucking on a soother.

"He's about two and a half and he can actually talk pretty well, much better than Dean could at that age. He'll tell you want he wants, but he shouldn't need much. His mama texted an hour ago, said she'd be here by three thirty. Maybe just a diaper change? I know you know how to do that."

"This had better buy me major brownie points," I say and bounce the little guy. He is kind of cute, but don't tell anyone I think so. "Say, a pretzel bun?"

He thinks about it. "All right, one pretzel bun. You can bring little Michael back in an hour—I'll be all done here and I can take him 'till his mama gets back. Bring him around to see the games or something."

I can't wait to show off my second pretzel bun to Dean. I begrudgingly carry my little bundle away from the food tents and toward the games. He wakes up more and looks at me with a clear, 'who the fuck are you?' expression and I don't blame him. What was Sam thinking passing him off like that?

"I'm Michael, like you." That makes him smile and I've instantly won him over. Right. Humans always like when you have the same name as them.

"I'm going to take you to the games, is that okay?"

He appears to be thinking about it. "Mama?"

Yeah, he's probably looking for his mama. "She says it's okay," I lie.

I take him around to the various games; all clearly too big for him. Of course I bump into Brad and Dean. I've been trying not to think about Dean. I'm a colossal idiot, but I'd be lying if I said the things he said didn't hurt me too. I'm an angel, but I'm not made of stone. His eyes bug out of his head when he sees me with the little guy.

Oh right. His majorly fucked up dream and the reason we're arguing in the first place. How could I forget? We all know by now I'm being sarcastic, yes?"

I should be making it up to him, but he's with Brad and yes, I know, I told him to go, but I still like it about as much as I'd like a barium enema.

"Look Michael," I say rather loudly. "Do you know Dean?" Yes, I'm a terrible angel, I've just used a child in my schemes.

But fuck. He does know Dean.

"Dean!" He squirms to get down and runs to him.

Dean picks him up and squeezes him. "What'cha doing away from your mama cowboy?"

He points at me, "Mike." Dean laughs, he knows how much I hate being called 'Mike.'

"Well these games are all too big for you, the little guy games are on the other side and Uncle Dal is over there with his guitar singing some kid classics. How about we all go together?" Dean suggests.

He pretends to be oblivious to the way Brad and I look each other up and down and come to a silent agreement. We both get it; Dean wants the kid with him, but he's my responsibility, so if Dean wants him then I come too. Plus, I have the added knowledge that Dean is wigged out by his dream and he seems to want to rewrite it somehow.

Both Brad and I are willing to give Dean what he wants, so neither of us complain, but we both want to dismember the other.

Dallas is on the grass behind the church where he's got a whole bunch of kids surrounding him, dressed like a farmer in overalls, tank top, and a straw hat. Dallas is a really good looking guy, so he's got a lot of moms and dads oogling him as they pretend they are solely there for their children.

Dean still has Michael, having completely stole him from me. I don't mind. Not that I don't like the kid, but it's making Dean so happy. He's not ready to admit it yet, but he does want a little family. I can never give that to him. But maybe something can be arranged. A secret child. With the angels from which I've gained loyalty, maybe it's a possibility. If Dean were to adopt a baby on his own, he has that prerogative, maybe I could somehow manage to be a 'weekend Dad'…I know, I know. No need to rain on my parade, I can already foresee the many problems with that scenario, I'm just brainstorming. Call me selfish, but I'm not ready to wave the white flag at Brad just yet. There's got to be someway I can give Dean everything he wants.

But for now, I just enjoy watching him.

He sits on the grass with little Michael on his lap, while they sing the 'I am a Pizza,' song with the other kids and Dallas.

I'm left standing with Brad and I can't help myself. "I'm so looking forward to later. Has Dean showed you his tree house yet? Do you know I've fucked him twenty-six times in there? Maybe tonight we'll go for an even thirty."

"Dean isn't just an object for me to fuck," he says seething. "When I make love to Dean for the first time, I want it to be special."

Who is this kid? With responses like that, I'm starting to feel like the villain in a soap opera. "Well if you wait 'till your wedding night, it'll never happen. He's not going to marry you. He's going to marry me." No I don't know how I'm going to manage that one, but it's just fucking football head. I can make him all the 'promises' I want that I can't keep.

He gives me a squinted look. "You want to marry Dean? All you do is hurt Dean. He wouldn't say why, but I can tell he's heartbroken right now and I know it's because of something you did."

I look over to Dean, he looks happy right now, singing with Michael, but I know Brad's right, much as I hate to give him points on anything, I knew when I told Dean to go with Brad he was heartbroken. I thought it would cheer him up; not having to be around the guy he's apparently 'stuck with.'

Since my taunting is not working quite as well as it did before, I shut up. I'm being childish—not to say I didn't enjoy myself. I know it got to him. Just because he knows how to get to me, doesn't mean I didn't get to him.

Dean comes back and little Michael actually wants to come to me. "Mike?" he says to Dean. Dean passes him over to me. He's a little guy, but he's solid like Dean was.

"Do you need your diaper changed?" I ask like I would have Dean.

"Um, I think you've got to check, Michael. I was a moddler, remember? I understood some things on another level. He may or may not answer that."

Little Michael shakes his head. "No diaper changes, Mike."

I twist my lips at 'Mike.' The kid's lucky he's cute. "See? He answered just fine."

"I'd still check him. Anyway, I'll see you later."

Brad and Dean leave me holding hands. They look good together, but Dean and I look better, or we could look better.

I do find a place to change the little boy's diaper, Dean was right, he was wet—I guess you can't trust a toddler. It gives me time to think. The smarmy, cologne-doused, white-boy is right: I do hurt Dean. This relationship doesn't work for us as it once did; maybe it never really did. More likely, I've been in denial that this could work for the rest of our lives.

But I'm not willing to let Dean go. I couldn't if I wanted to and I don't want to. It's an angel thing. Dean was right, as long as I exist, he is stuck with me; I physically can't leave him alone. Even if he told me to leave him alone forever, I'd always be there in the shadows, protecting him.

I don't want to be a shadow. And I don't want him riding off into the sunset with football head.

The details become clearer as I ponder everything, the how's and the when's; I'm going to make Dean and I work; it's all or nothing now.

~DM~

"Man am I full. Your Daddy sure knows how to put on a feast. That was good Sugar."

It was, as usual, but I don't feel the same level of content he does. All I can think about is Michael and the things I said to him. I don't even care about what he said to me anymore—I know he didn't mean it; he was just fucking hurt. I mean, it was fucking dumb, but I understand. What I said was way worse.

I've got my head in Brad's lap, looking up at the sky and he's running his large fingers through my hair, his back up against a tree.

"Aw, c'mon Babe. Is there gonna be anything that puts a smile on your face?"

"Sorry, babe. I just…it's not really something I can talk to you about."

"I know it's Michael. You can talk to me about it, I'll do my best to remain non-biased."

I might regret this later, but I decide to tell all, the dream, the fight everything. "It's stupid, right?"

"It's a nothing fight that got out of hand. You two will make up and he'll be having sex with you in that fancy tree house 'a yours."

"He tell you that?"

"Yeah. I know you two have sex Dean. I ain't stupid."

"I don't know why you still want to date me."

"I told you Dean, I'm crazy about you, you'd better hush about that—that's officially something I'd spank you for. I hope you're at least getting an idea by now of how much you mean to me."

I get that familiar jolt of pleasure and calm run through me just thinking about being spanked. It's probably what I need to let go of these feelings about Michael. I'm not so good at asking for spankings. I usually provoke someone into it—I'm a straight up brat and I know it.

"Yes, sir," I tease him.

"Aw baby, you can't do that here." He leans down to my ear. "Makes my dick hard as blazes."

"We could go make out in a pew…"

"Dean, there you are," Papa says casually. Wow he's got some timing. I jump up from Brad's lap even though we weren't doing anything. "It's time for you to come join your Daddy and I—we're leaving soon. Say goodbye to Bradley."

Why is he being so strict? I don't remember doing anything, unless, did he hear me talking about making out in pews? Fuck I hope not; I've kind of been walking fine lines with Papa these days. "Yes, sir."

"I expect to see you there in ten minutes," Father decrees, then leaves expecting his will to be done. It doesn't escape my notice that he didn't say a word to Brad.

"You in trouble, Sugar?"

"I don't think so; I'm pretty sure he's just worried about me, he worries like all the fucking time," I say standing up. "And everyone's fucking tired, it's been a long week leading up to this fundraiser, plus we were all up early."

"I don't blame him. I worry about you too, sweets. I've shown you I can take care of you, I hope you'll come to me more often when you need something."

I end up back at the food tent after I've said good-bye to Brad. I already ate with him, but since I have the metabolism of an elephant shrew, I help myself to more food. Michael's there with little Michael on his lap munching on a pretzel bun right in front of Daddy. I'm outraged.

"Hey. How come he gets one?"

"He did me a favor and just where were you? You said you'd be back to help me and I never saw you again."

In my defense, I had planned on asking Daddy if he still needed help when Brad and I came to get food, but it just so happened to be one of the times he was off doing something else. I know that won't fly, so I just take my plate and a seat beside the two Michaels and jealously stare at his pretzel bun. I can't even rat him out on that being his second, since it'd give me away too. He's enjoying it way more than he should be knowing he got one over on me, not to mention, he looks like the good son for helping out while I 'slacked off.' Never mind I pickled beans for days and I swear I still have fucking pie crust dough stuck under my finger nails from all those pies and bits of chicken batter in my hair…

"Sorry Daddy. I was with Brad. Where's Papa?" I say, glad it looks like I've beat him back here.

"Why? You looking for him Dean Bean?"

"Not exactly. He told me I had to come back here and to say goodbye to Brad. I figured maybe he needed me for something?"

Daddy turns around to look at me straight on. "What did you do, Sur?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? I didn't do anything. I swear."

"There's got to be some reason he's on high alert about you."

"I know that, Daddy. I swear I don't know why." This sucks. I didn't do anything this time. Did I? My stomach starts to squirm a bit. I hate being in trouble with Papa.

"Clean up crew is all managed," Papa says coming into the food tent. "You can relax now Sam and eat some more, please."

"Yes, Cassy. Dean, don't eat too much more, we're going to have dinner at seven."

"I'll be fine Daddy. That's forever away."

I get a not so pleased look from Papa. "Mind your daddy, Mr. Winchester."

"Yes, sir," I say with heated cheeks, not looking too directly at his eyes. "Am I in trouble, Papa?"

"Not yet and I'm going to keep it that way."

Time to suck up. "Can I help you in anyway _now_ , sir?" I say to Daddy. Sometimes it's a good idea to call Daddy sir too.

"I'm good now, Dean Bean. Why don't you help Michael with Michael? His mama's running a bit behind, but she'll be here any minute."

"I also did that too—helped with Michael. I took him to see Uncle Dally," I say.

"You're not having a pretzel bun Dean," Daddy says.

I sit and pout as Papa pulls Daddy away to get him a pre-dinner snack and I'm left with a small plate of food (I wished I grabbed more while I could) and Michael who's smirking at me. "Okay, laugh it up. You get another one and I don't because you're Daddy's favorite today."

He doesn't deny it. Little Michael's coloring a picture while sitting in his lap quietly. I've never seen the two-year-old so well behaved and know it must be Michael, I've been around little Michael often enough to know he's not quite _this_ angelic, he is a good boy though. "I've been wanting to apologize all day, Duck. I don't even know how this time—what I said was unforgivable. I understand if you hate me."

Oh, God. I'm so relieved to hear him say that. "I forgave you hours ago, Baby. What I said was way worse…"

He's shaking his head. "I'm the one who, messed up more," he says careful not to swear in front of little Michael. "I have great responsibility to you Dean. I'm the one who provides structure between the two of us, I didn't do that today."

"No one's perfect, Michael. Even Papa screws up. It doesn't excuse what I said and I'm sorry too. In fact, I think I need…"

"Are you asking me to…?" Neither of us want to say it in front of the little guy. Not to mention, Michael's surprised; I don't ask often. I'm trying hard to be a grown-up.

I'll feel much better after Michael spanks me, but already, I feel better than I felt since our fight. The sharp tension between us dissolves into the beginnings of contentment.

"Here." He breaks a piece off his special pretzel bun and I gladly take it and shove it into my mouth.

"Mmm…so good," I say with my mouthful. "You must really love me."

To my utter fucking surprise he says, "I do love you Dean."


	16. This is the Dean of Our Lives (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here goes Mock with another long A/N...
> 
>  
> 
> I realize now I was quite ambitious with what I thought I could fit into a chapter. This may be the last part of 'This is the Dean of Our Lives' but still 2 more pieces to the before Texas bit. I'm surprised Lizard Wispherer hasn't made a pic-o-rama of the crazy chapter feats Mock thinks she can do (contrary to popular belief, I'm not a machine.) I hope you've all had a chance to see her pic-o-ramas; they're amazing!! And hilarious!! <3
> 
> Last: I know some of you think you want to see behind Sam and Cas's closed bedroom door, and see how Cas restores order with Sam post-bean-mania, but in honor of staying true to the characters, what happens might end up a lot harsher than y'all are comfortable with. They're pretty wild those two. So I"m taking a poll. Who would like to say 'Fuck Mock and her warnings' and see it anyway? 
> 
> I still may not write it, but we'll see. Perhaps I'll make it an outtake separate to the chapter. Thoughts?

I expected Michael to scold me for talking with my mouth full, since I could choke, not say _that._ He's never fucking just said that. Ever. I usually have to make him, or something. Oh my god, now I am choking. I'm fucking choking on a pretzel bun.

I'm not coughing though, the fucking delicious, salty bread is wedged into my airway, and I'm just gasping trying to get air, but I can't. Arms are suddenly around me, pulling up while a set of joined fists thrust up from my belly button and pound into my diaphragm over and over. It doesn't seem to be working and I'm slowly getting dizzy, but just before the room goes black and a particularly hard abdominal thrust, the pretzel bun pops out and breath was never so fucking sweet.

Michael. It was Michael who saved me. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say when I catch my breath. Daddy and Papa are here looking horrified. According to them, I've choked multiple times as a tyke and it never stops being horrifying to a parent. I wipe the tears that spring naturally to your eyes when you start fucking choking and I feel a little shaky and weak like you do after puking. "Thanks."

Little Michael's on the bench where Michael must have placed him, so he could save my ass, and Michael has fucking tears in his eyes he's wiping away, they are soon replaced by rage.

"Dean choked," little Michael says seriously.

"That's right. I did—sorry to scare you cowboy," I say rubbing my throat.

"Dean was talking with his mouth full again," Michael tattles on me.

"It's not like I meant to choke, you…" I can't say it, maybe I imagined it happening.

"C'mere Dean Bean." Daddy pulls me to him and I don't really need it, but I know he does, so I hug him good.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to scare anyone."

"I know you didn't sweetheart."

I'm quickly passed off to Papa too, who's equally concerned about me, but more in the way Michael is. "You were told not to have pretzel buns," he says squeezing me tight; he's not _really_ mad, but he's not exactly pleased.

"Sorry, Papa."

Michael's mama comes to get him after that little episode, breaking up the worried air floating around the food tent. There aren't too many people left, thankfully.

"I think it's time the Winchesters roll out," Papa says still looking shook up over the whole I almost choked on a pretzel bun thing. "I think we all need rests before dinner." That's said directly to me, so I know he doesn't just mean Daddy.

We came with a shit load of stuff, but we're leaving with nothing. Everything that's ours will be dropped off to us, but Daddy rented a lot of stuff, so that'll all get picked up tomorrow. Daddy will come back to sort that out; the clean up crew will put everything inside the church for now.

Daddy goes with Papa and Michael walks me to my car, while I'm still fucking reeling. Not over choking, they might not be over it, but I am. My brain's stuck on something else. We're stopped at my driver's side car door. "Michael, you said—"

He pushes hair out of my eyes and leans in to kiss me, cutting off my words. "You know I do. Don't make a big deal of it."

"But it is a big deal, you've _never_ said it. Not even when I was little. No matter how many times I've asked you, you always had some witty joke response."

"Have you been watching Dr. Sexy M.D. again? This isn't a soap opera Dean. Saying… _that_ …isn't a big deal when I've been saying it everyday for the past two and a half decades in other ways."

Okay, I get it, he doesn't want to make a thing out of it, but he _said_ that for a reason. Michael wouldn't just say shit like that. But I'm Dean Winchester and I'm a fucking pushy brat. "If it's not a big deal, then why can't you say it now?"

"Don't be silly. Of course I could say it again if I wanted to. I've always said we share a profound bond."

"Cut it out with the profound bond bullshit. If it's no big deal, then say it again." I'm as fucking challenging as I can be.

He stares at me for what seems like forever; he's doing the classic Michael freeze up. He's definitely going back to his loft to clean 'till dinner. He opens his mouth then closes it again and licks his lips, which is a human habit. Michael has many human habits.

"Must you always scare the fucking shit out of me like that? No talking with your mouth full, ever. That's a big rule. You'll get fifty with my belt if you ever do that again." That's all he can come up with.

I nod. "Okay." I don't even argue that rule, but I can't pretend I'm not disappointed that he can't say it again. He can't. I don't know why he can't.

"Dean…I…I'll see you later and…" There's actual rage bubbling through him; I don't know why, but I know it's not my fault. He turns around and punches the tree next to Baby leaving a nice angel sized hole, not near the size of a full strength angel, but much larger than a human; scraping up his knuckles and making them bleed. If he were human they'd probably be broken, as it is I think they could be sprained. I shouldn’t have fucking pushed him; I have to calm him down.

"Michael, Baby," I say and turn him to face me. I grab his bleeding hand careful not to get blood on me—you think he's freaking now? Imagine if I got blood on me. "Looks like it's my lucky day. Your spanking hand is all fucked up."

That makes him smile. "Not to worry my little duckling, I'm ambidextrous."

"Yeah, but you can't be as good with your other hand, it's out of practice," I say confidently.

"You'll find out tonight. Go sleep, Petal."

I don't know how that became a nic, but I let it go this time. "See you later, Baby."

~DM~

"We sold all of the pies," Daddy says.

"And all of the beans," I announce. As expected, Daddy whips his head around to Papa, but Papa's not having any of it. He's done with the both of us as I quickly learned when we got home. We were _both_ sent to bed and we _both_ knew not to utter a fucking word, or we'd _both_ be going to bed with sore bottoms.

We're seated around the formal dining room table with Michael, who can sense the restrictive air around us, which amuses him to no end. As much as he might disagree and passive aggressively fight with my father, he loves watching Papa wrangle us back in from Colt chaos. Uncle Dal's here too, being just as amused by Winchester style antics.

Since Uncle Dal is family, he's of course welcome to Sunday dinner, but unlike me (and now Michael) he's not obligated to attend, now that's he's moved out. He still likes coming as often as he can make it.

I finally figured out that the reason for all Papa's strictness, is merely him restoring the sorely needed balance to our home. It's been way out of hand, a little too Coltish for Papa's liking and he's reminding Daddy and me who makes the rules. I was just relived to know I wasn't in trouble for anything specific. Because after thinking long and hard about it before I fell asleep, I came up with a few things I thought Papa would be less than impressed with me over and I'm glad he hasn't found out about a single one of them, or he'd be a lot more than just strict.

"I don't want to hear another word about beans. Beans are over for a year at least. You made the exact right amount and the fundraiser in general made good money. In fact, we should toast to you and your success. It's been the best fundraiser…well, since the last time you held the fundraiser." Papa lifts his wine glass. "To Sam and another great fundraiser."

We all lift our glasses and toast to Daddy.

"One fundraiser down and one to go," Daddy says and I almost choke again, Michael's doing all he can to prevent himself laughing.

Father is shaking his head. "No. No way. You hear this Sam _and_ Dean Winchester, you may _help_ Georgia with the church fundraiser in Texas, but you are not to involve yourselves. I allowed this one, because we hosted this year Sam. Now it's over. Am I perfectly understood?"

"Yes, sir," we both say at the same time.

"Michael, I'm trusting you to keep a close eye on them while I'm not there." Papa won't be there the first week, we'd be left to our own devices, drown in Colts. I doubt Papa would be able to sort us from the Colts when he arrived.

"Oh, believe me I will, sir." There isn't a lot Michael can do about Daddy, 'cept tell on him, but he can certainly sort me out.

All of it just reminds me that Michael's coming this year and I smile wide at him. I'm so fucking happy he's coming.

Daddy does the prayer for us and we begin eating the meal Chef Andrew prepared for us. The whole time, Papa's got the eyes that say he's on his own special Papa mission. Sunday dinner can sometimes be a little like a family board meeting, if he feels there are things to discuss, he's even handed out the occasional spanking to yours truly. So let's just say that squirmy feeling that began in my stomach earlier is beginning to spread.

I still want to ask my question about Michael and me, but I'm not quite ready yet.

"Dean?" Papa says. I almost jump.

"Yes, sir?"

"I have to leave on my business trip, earlier than planned, we have to move our meeting up to Tuesday. It should only take an hour."

That's the night I'm meeting up with Uncle Dal. I look over to Uncle Dal and he just nods understanding—he's very understanding. Uncle Dal knows he'll have to wait, since Papa's not exactly asking me. "Of course, Papa."

There's more silence and I can't stand it. We need to lighten up the mood a little bit _and_ Papa who's clearly going to be on a rampage 'till he's gone. I decide to go with something cute. "We're a pain in the butt, but you still love us, don't you Papa?"

He knows what I'm up to, but he smiles. "You know I do, Kiddo."

"I know what would cheer you up. Michael's father gave him this great new bike. I bet he'll take you for a ride."

"No one is going on that thing, Dean _Daniel_ , Jonathan," Daddy says.

Tread carefully, ye who is three named. "I was talking about Papa."

"So am I."

 _That_ gets Papa laughing. I know he thinks Daddy's cute when he gets protective of him. "I've always wondered what it was like to ride one of those."

"Well you can keep wondering Castiel Winchester. I don't even want Michael on it; he can still get hurt…just because his grace will heal him, but I'm not his real Daddy. He doesn't have to listen to me…"

Now I want to laugh since I've just triggered a Sam Winchester guilt trip that Michael's got to squirm his way out of.

"I always listen to you," Michael says insulted.

"So we agree, no one should ride it," Daddy says.

"But…I…" Michael sighs. "What am I supposed to do with it?" Michael doesn't bother arguing. Daddy tends to get what he wants in these types of situations.

"I don't know Michael honey, but I'm sure you'll think of something."

Uncle Dal shoves a potato in his mouth to keep from laughing. Michael kicks me under the table; he's not pleased, but I really didn't mean to get it taken away. He looks intent on getting me back. Papa is full out laughing and it was him I was trying to lighten up, so I consider my mission accomplished.

"Speaking of items of business, Dean, isn't there something you wanted to ask your parents?" Michael says, a fucking shit eating grin on his face. He must sense me putting off the question he knows I have.

Everyone's looking at me now. Suddenly I don't want to ask them anything. "I thought you wanted to ask them?" I say.

"Nope. I'm fine with the rule, you're the one who has a problem with it."

"Okay, Dean. Out with it," Papa says.

I kick Michael back under the table. He doesn't care, and leans back in his chair waiting for me to fumble through this explanation. "Michael and I made a rule. I was supposed to run my plans by him, if either he or Tom weren't around, I would stay home. I agreed. Quickly it became Michael okaying all of my plans, which I do not agree with. I said I want out of the rule, unless it's the original one we agreed upon."

"Thank-you Dean. Michael? Do you have anything to add?" Papa says.

"Everything he says is true, but I feel part of my role in this relationship is to make decisions when I feel he needs it and…and I thought…"

Holy fuck. Michael's the one fumbling while I did pretty kick-ass if I do say so myself. His teeth are grit and he looks like he doesn't want to go further; he closes his eyes then opens them again.

"I thought sometimes a rule could be for me."

What the?

Daddy's looking fondly at Michael like he's proud. He really is Daddy's favorite today.

"It can Michael," Papa says softly. Softly? When does Papa talk to Michael like that? Am I in another dream sequence?

I fucking pinch myself under the table, nope, awake. Shit just got weird.

"But by the look on Dean's face, I'm going to say you did not communicate this to him?"

"No, sir." Michael looks down at his plate, embarrassed, hot under the gaze of my father.

Papa shakes his head. "You two are terrible at communication and that's where most of your arguments originate. I want you both to work on that—that's a rule. Understood?"

Fuck. And if you'll remember, no, Papa doesn't have to ask me if I agree to that rule; he says it, it's a rule.

"Yes, sir," we both say.

"Michael, I can't ask you to subject to a punishment for this rule at this time, if you should disrespect my request, but I can lecture your ears off and I promise you won't like it."

"Yes, sir," he says. "But sir, I will offer myself for punishment, same as Dean would receive, if I disobey."

Not even Dally's laughing at that; my heart is beating fast. I feel a bit dizzy actually—this is a lot of Michael chivalry for one day. I guess he feels like he's fucked up and needs to make it up to Father.

"Thank-you Michael. Now that Dean knows that piece, I think you do need to renegotiate the rule, but before you do, Dean, I think this is something you should talk to your daddy about. I hope you'll consider Michael's feelings and not just your own and remember what we talked about regarding mature relationships."

I did not expect any of this to happen; I'm still confused to be honest, it seemed like an open and shut case, but apparently it's not. And _Michael's feelings_? Since when has Papa cared about those?

When dinner nears its end, Papa still has one more royal decree to make. "Dean, you have school in the morning. I expect you in bed at an hour which reflects that, if I find you're not able to do that, I'm happy to do it for you."

"Yes, sir." Guess he's still a bit pissed about me staying up all night last night and I'd really rather not be assigned a bedtime. Been there, done that.

"And from what I can tell, there's something you and Michael need to take care of. You have my permission to use your bedroom."

Okay. Two questions. Did my father just give me permission to allow Michael to spank me in my bedroom? And how fucking much did Papa see today? I should probably be grateful I'm not in a lot more trouble. That means he couldn't have overheard my and Hannah's conversation, or I would be.

"One more thing, if you two don't take care of it, I will, so see that you do please."

I do not envy Daddy tonight. "Yes, sir."

Michael and I get the fuck out of there, not even bothering to stay for dessert. I ate a ton of pie today anyway. I say bye to Uncle Dal, who says, "see you Tuesday half-pint. Try to keep yourself out of trouble 'till then, huh?" We high tail it to my room and when we get there, we shut the door and burst out laughing.

"Holy fuck Daddy's in trouble later. If I thought there was anyway we could save him…"

"Don't worry about him, Duck. Papa Winchester only does what he knows your daddy needs. C'mere." He pulls me down on the bed, with my back to him. He props himself up on pillows, and snuggles me to him tight. "I need to be near you, baby."

"What? Who are you? Michael never says shit like that, just like he never says—"

"Hush. I'm working on communication like Papa Winchester said to."

"So now you're sucking up to Papa?"

"I've been trying to suck up to that anal bastard since the day I met him, but that's besides the point—he's right. I'm going to do better Dean."

He's holding me with one arm, while his other hand plays at the nape of my neck, then down the front of my shirt. "Just like that?" I say after awhile.

"Just like that."

"Why?"

"I told you, today."

Right. That. There's no way I'm pushing him about that again, which reminds me. "How's your hand?"

"All better."

There's another eternity of silence. "I'm sorry I got your bike taken away."

"I don't care about the bike."

"You said it reminded you of flying."

"There are better things than flying."

There's more silence and I've run out of things to say. Michael's in this weird fucking mood. He's supposed to be leading, so I let him. Eventually, his hand makes its way down to the waistband of my shorts and unbuttons them, his hand slides to grab my cock. "Mmmnhm, yeah…"

He slips my shorts down my ass with his other hand, still stroking my cock, and swirling the pre cum, that's already leaking, around the head. He leans back to reach into my bed side table to grab lube, "I need you to keep quiet. Can you do that?" he says as he's lubing my hole.

"Uh-huh, just please, stick your cock in me," I say as quiet as fucking possible. I'm pretty sure this is not what Papa meant by taking care of me.

I open fairly easily for him. Practice. And it feels so good when he slides his dick home as he continues to stroke my cock with the hand he's added lube to. His free hand grabs my hip and his fingers dig in hard and painful. "Michael…" I breath out, quietly even though I'm pretty sure no one's going to hear us anyway.

"I'm right here, baby. You going to cum for me?"

His cock slides over my prostate, hard and steady, his hand twists down my shaft and over the head. Oh God…Oh God…I have to stuff my head in a pillow to keep from crying out as my cum spews all over his hand. Michael slows his strokes around my cock, milking the last dredges from the bottom of my nuts, but rams into my ass hard as he releases inside me and groans quietly into my ear. "Oh god, Dean. That was…intense."

"Yeah," I say panting. I turn my head so we can kiss. "That was totally quiet-teenager-don't-let-the-parents-hear sex, I fucking loved it. Hot."

I grab some tissue from the box on my bedside table, and do a mini clean up, so I can pull up my pants and head over to my in suite washroom, but I get an idea, I stop at my dresser drawer. "Here, have a sock."

"A sock?"

"Yeah. I think that's what you're supposed to use after that kind of sex."

He scowls at me and grabs a tissue. "I'm good with tissue."

I toss the sock in the hamper and head back to Michael, who just doesn't seem like Michael. "You sure you're not the shapeshifter version of Michael?"

"You want to cut me with silver, duck?"

"No." Michael looks sad. I know what always cheers him up. "So, time to spank, Dean?"

"I believe I decide when you get your spanking."

"And what we going to do 'till then, recite poetry? Grow fucking vaginas?" There, that should do it.

"Sit in that chair," he orders.

Thank the fucking lord. "Yes, sir!"

I sit and he lays back, pillowing his hands behind his head. "What are your plans for this week?"

"Double date tomorrow night with Brad, my new friend Kelsey and Brad's bestie, Ryan. The Dal thing you know about, that's it so far. I was pretty much going to just hang with Daddy the 'till we leave."

"Does that mean you forfeit our bet?"

Oh shit…that.

"If you forfeit, I'm willing shorten the length of time you spend over my lap and I will include tonight. If you don't, the entire week stands and I will make you miserable. Chose."

Evil fucking angel. Fuck. I am going to lose that bet because Brad's the great wall of fucking China.

"You're not going to get a better deal than that."

I sigh. "Yeah I know. Fine. I forfeit."

Michael smiles. "Good. Go downstairs and get my jacket, bring it to me."

It's good to know what he spent his fucking time doing while I slept; dreaming up ways to spank Dean.

I'm too afraid to look into this jacket, not to mention he didn't say I could. If there's any advice I can give to a spankee, it's do not further agitate the spanker. I hand Michael the jacket soon as I get back.

"You know, I've changed my mind. I'm good. I don't need a spanking anymore. I'm 'ducky.'"

"You need this spanking Dean and I intend to give it to you. It's my job to take care of you."

He pulls a short thin rod out of his jacket. "What the fuck is that?" I ask.

"This, is a lap cane. Come here." He's already sitting with his legs off the bed in preparation. I take tentative steps toward him 'till I'm close enough for him to grab and pull me between his legs.

"Do you trust me?"

"I do."

"Then calm down. This is what we're going to do. First I'm going to spank you for today, for you, because you asked me to and because you need me to. When that's all done, I'm going to begin my Michael fun spankings—the winnings of my bet."

"Michael fun spankings?"

"Yes. I want you to understand that they aren't for anything—you did nothing to earn them, I don't want them to mess with your psyche in that way, they are for my pleasure. You and I have never used spanking in quite this way, I want to be clear."

He's definitely whacked on my ass a few times during sex, for fun, and not as punishment, but he's right, not quite like this. "Believe me, I don't think I'll be making any mistakes there."

"Good. Tonight you will only get a taste. Ten solid whacks, which you will ask me for. Then tomorrow, you're to come to my loft after school—before your _double date_ and ask me for a real spanking with it. And finally Wednesday for another."

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"That's why they're called Michael fun spankings," he says too gleefully. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

" _Dean._ "

"Yes, sir."

My shorts come down again and soon I'm upturned and bare assed over Michael. He sets the lap cane aside, thankfully not in my view. It looks like it's going to fucking hurt.

He rubs my bare ass, which is probably still sporting some pink—was it only Friday I was last spanked? But by the way this week's gone, the question might be better asked, did I actually manage to go one day without being spanked this week? I'm not sore though, so I may as well be considered fresh.

He doesn't lecture, or say anything, to start. He simply starts in with several hard swats. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I've been spanked (and I know you'll believe me when I say I'm a pro) those first spanks are the ones that get me breathless the fastest. They hurt physically, but mentally it's soothing.

"Is this what you needed, Duck?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me why."

"Because I said terrible things. I hurt you. I…I'm so sorry, Michael. I didn't fucking mean it." That's what gets me breaking up, tears welling, remembering our fight and the shitty things I said. I hate what I said to him.

"I do thank-you for your apology, but I've already forgiven you. Can you forgive yourself?"

He leaves that question hanging in the air as he gets to work doing a very thorough job making every inch of my ass, and the tops of my thighs sting. I always think I'm going to be like those dudes in the pornos who just lay still and accept their spankings, but fuck, I'd like to see those dudes get a spanking from Michael and not squirm. Because I do and I cry and it feels good. I never know quite how spanking does it, but by the end when I'm a sobbing mess of tears, I feel absolved. I guess I feel like I've given something and I can move forward from today.

The pit in my stomach that I sometimes don't always know is there 'till I'm being spanked, or even after, goes away and I don't feel bad anymore and like Papa, he seems to have an intuition over when this happens and knows the spanking is over. He lifts me up and pulls me to him kissing me. "Thank-you, Michael," I say wiping at tears. "That was…good."

He rubs his soft hand over my backside, rubbing out some of the sting for me. "I know. It looks good, I want to bite it."

I laugh. "You want to bite my ass?"

"You have no idea how delicious you look."

I shake my head.

"You're better now?"

"Much. I mean it, thanks."

I lean in to kiss him again and when I pull away this time, he's looking at me expectantly. Right. The _Michael fun spanking_. I indulge him. "Oh please, m'lord, spank me with thou'st evil fucking stick of torture."

That earns me a different kind of spank from his hand that had been, so nicely rubbing. "Back over you go."

I do as bid.

"Good boy. Spread your legs nice and wide for me."

I do the best I can considering my shorts are still around my ankles. Michael takes his stick and rubs it across my hot backside. "Ten tonight. Count them please and thank me."

"You're enjoying this way too fucking much."

That gets me my first whack with his whippy little stick…lap cane…whatever the fuck it is. "Ow!"

"Behave yourself."

"Does that one count?"

"What do you think?" He waits 'till I'm quiet. "Good, _now_ we will begin."

He's way too good at using the thing and while it does fucking hurt and is not something I'm looking forward to being used on me multiple times this week, it's not nearly as bad as I imagined. "Ow, fuck. One. Thank-you, sir."

He rubs it across my ass, drawing out the spanking, making my ass tingle. Whack. "Ah. Two. Thank-you, sir."

By ten, I've well and truly had a 'taste,' and I can feel every place he landed that thing with a special two; one for each of my upper thighs. He pulls me up; his eyes are filled with lust—wow did he fucking like that. "Oh god, baby. Will you…will you suck my cock?"

"My pleasure." I rip open his straining erection and get down on my knees between his legs, sucking down his cock. He thinks I'm delicious? His cock is ten times more delicious, I'm sure of it.

Apparently, him spanking me like that, made him so fucking horny, it doesn't take him long, I mean I'm good, but not that good. "Dean, oh baby, I'm going to cum."

And he does, straight down my throat; I swallow and lick him clean then clamber up to kiss him so he can taste himself. "Fuck," he says falling back on the bed. "I think I just found my new favorite thing."

That doesn't sound very good for my ass. "New? What's so new about spanking my ass? It's not like you haven't used implements before," I say, doing up my shorts.

"But this one… _this_ one leaves such a lovely color. It's perfect." I think he's in love.

He's got the biggest smile on his face and I somehow feel responsible for it. Seeing the melancholy angel happy is the best thing in the world and something hits me. An understanding.

"I don't think I need to talk to Daddy, I mean, I will anyway, but I think I get it."

"Get what?"

He sits up as I get down between his knees again and look up at him. "Not all of the rules in our relationship will be for me. Some will be for you, like this one. You need it and you didn't know how to ask for it. This is something I need to give to you. It'll be easier for me to give knowing how much you need it—though I have no illusions over it being easy. It's going to be challenging as fuck, but I want to do it for you Michael. Just like Daddy does stuff like this for Papa."

When I see an angel tear, I know I've done the right thing. "You really ought to catch these you know," he says wiping it away.

"Why, when you cry like all the time? I'm sure there will be some on hand when I need them."

"I do not," he says pulling me to him down on the bed.

"Do too, you cried after I almost fucking choked to death."

"Do not and I should spank you again for that."

"Do too, and my ass is sore enough thanks."

"Do no—oh forget it. Thank-you, my duckling. This means a lot to me."


	17. A Tbsp of Stern Papa, With a Dose of Castiel and a Dash of Old Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter...oh the struggles I had. Wow. 
> 
> But you get to see what happened with Sam and Cas (that was the hard part.) On the bright side, it's not as bad as I thought it would be; I think I got caught up with Dean's assumptions...but he doesn't know. I hope to Christ that part makes sense. 
> 
> The only WARNING I will put is: BDSM. I don't want to change the tags and I'm not going to, b/c it's not that kind of story on the whole (I'd much rather focus on the d/d) and I'd like to remind everyone that while Sam and Cas may play a little like that, they are not really DOM and SUB. They played in the scene a very long time ago and then it was goodbye. It's not a life that was meant for them--I hope that's clear by this point. I know ppl confuse d/d with bdsm. I don't want to mesh them too much, but it is a good comparison and analogy at times. 
> 
> By now, I think everyone who is still reading this story will be pretty cool with what they do anyway, since pretty much everyone said they wanted to see.

Monday Morning

When I come down in the morning, I only see Papa. I'm not surprised. "Daddy okay?"

"Of course he is, Kiddo. I sorted him all out, but I want him to rest a little longer. You look sorted out."

"Michael sorted me out good, Papa. You wanna see?"

He gives me a scolding look. "I'm good. Behave yourself young man."

I guess no one's in the mood for jokes yet. "So, should I make my own breakfast, or…"

"No need. I made you my special oatmeal."

I wince. His special oatmeal is special, because it's pretty much the only thing Papa can cook. It's okay, but it's kinda bland unless I douse it in maple syrup—but don't you dare tell him that. I wouldn't complain about it on a good day; I've already gathered I'm on thin ice with Papa as Daddy would say, so I shut my pie hole. "Is there coffee?"

"In the pot over there."

Thank god. I help myself and pour lots of cream in—I like my coffee strong, but Papa's is like mud. I don't care, I'm going to need something to wash the bland oatmeal down with.

Daddy comes down once I'm half-way through; he looks stiff, but he's smiling wide. The two look at each other and share that special smile of theirs—like there's no one else in the whole world—and kiss. "Morning, Cassy."

"I'm here too, Daddy." Yes I'm complaining. What the hell did those two do last night? Wait. Scratch that. Don’t want to know.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Morning Dean Bean."

"Morning to you too," I grumble around oatmeal. He's not looking at me anyway, just at Papa. I'm pretty sure they're going to have sex when I leave. In fact…I spoon the last bit of my oatmeal into my mouth and sip my last bit of coffee.

"So, um, sir, may I have my phone back, please?" I ask a little nervous he won't give it back. He fucking confiscated it last night, since I stayed up on it all night, the night before.

"Oh, right." Yeah, he's still mesmerized by Daddy, but he reaches into his pocket and hands it to me. "Don't let me catch you up all night on that thing again, or you won't see it for a week," he tears his eyes away from Daddy to say to me.

"Yes, sir." That's a fucking scary ass punishment. Me, Mr. socialite (least I am now) without his cell phone? That's just cruel Papa. I'm not stupid enough to say it.

"And, uh, you're going to have to buy lunch today," he says sheepishly. I expected as much, Papa doesn't do lunches. I know Daddy's still in some kinda parallel universe when he doesn't say a word about it and instead just tells me to, "have a good day at school Dean Bean."

I get outta dodge. What they don't know is most of my exams were written last week, meaning this is dick around week at school for Dean. I check my phone; there are like a bajillion messages. The first one I notice is from Mark, because he doesn't usually text me, making sure we're still on for working out.

Michael, who was there when Papa took my phone and thought it was hilarious left me a special note of sarcasm: _You can breath now, Duck._

Brad left me a goodnight message, which I respond to now, even though I'll see him shortly.

I have so many other messages, I don't get to them all. Wow. I've become Mr. Popular.

Brad's there shaking his head at me. "You manage to get yourself into some trouble, Sugar."

"Make-out with me? I don't have any classes this morning."

"You don't? What you doing here then, sweets?"

"What teen would pass up some unaccounted for time? Thought I could use it to make up to you for yesterday, my papa was on a rampage."

He laughs. "You don't have to make up to me anything, but I'm down. I've got nothing first block either."

We head back out to the student parking lot, but go for his truck since it's bigger and hop in the back seat. He's randy this morning. Usually Brad is very slow to get into anything, but today, he's quick to get my school jacket off and is unzipping his pants releasing his cock. "I gotta have your mouth on my cock, Dean. I've been thinking about it all night."

"Yeah?" I say giving the head a teasing lick. "What did you think about?" I let his huge cock enter my hot mouth slowly trying to drive him insane.

"I whacked off to you sitting on my cock, Sugar…God that feels good Dean, you're so good at that."

I almost choke on the cock in my mouth, (thank god cocks can't get trapped in your esophagus like pretzel buns) he's never said anything like that. I pop my mouth off his cock. "Yeah, babe. You want me to sit on your cock?"

"Someday," he says and he's already so lost in lust he's shoving my face back down to his cock, which I smile around as I get back to work. "Oh yeah, that's it…"

Huh. I mentally shrug. People say a lot of shit in the heat of the moment; just like that Meatloaf song. I finish sucking Brad off, then he does me.

All chastity vow approved sexed up, he helps me down from his massive truck, and we head out to the football stands where the football family seems to migrate when they have spares, or when they're just skipping.

There are a few guys with their girlfriends and boyfriends. Mark is there. "Oh hey Dean! Got your text this morning, looking forward to kicking your ass in the gym today."

"I might surprise you." I'm fucking sick of him telling me I'm puny. Just because I don't take fucking roids like the rest of them.

"Can we get started a bit early? Since English is over and I know we both have a spare next block? I want to score a bit of time with that hottie friend of yours and she's not free 'till lunch."

I know Hannah's crushing on him pretty hard, which is unusual for her, especially if they're having repeat make-out sessions. I'll do it for her, but definitely not for this meathead. I look at Brad. "Sorry, Sugar. I've got class, but you go ahead. I'll have to catch up with you two after. We can finish off your workout together and maybe steam up the steam room."

Since when did Brad become the sexual deviant in our relationship?

"Okay. Sounds good." This works out good, maybe I'll actually get to eat lunch.

Brad and I proceed to make-out, while the other guys talk about football. Jesus Christ, they can talk about football.

When the bell rings, Mark nocks his head. "C'mon Winchester. Detach your lips from our dear Captain, you're coming with me."

Both Brad and I groan since we were both enjoying the other and I was thinking we should either head back to his truck or head under the bleachers.

"You two can tangle tongues again later." He's teasing, but still respectful. I've noticed all the football boys defer to Brad. He's not just Captain on the field, but head of their football family. I wonder what that makes me? Football Mama? I sure as hell hope not.

"Okay, okay. You can take him," Brad says. "C'mere Sugar."

He pulls me close again and whispers in my ear just for me. "You be good now."

Fucking, cocktease. Two can play.

"Yes, sir," I say back, into his ear.

"Are you looking for a spanking, Dean Winchester?"

"I dare you."

Mark pulls me away. "Break it up you two. Winchester, you're with me. Davis, we'll see you in an hour."

~DM~

"C'mon Winchester, that all you got? Push!"

Just like every other gym bro I know, Mark only thinks about working his chest. I mean, I've never worked out with him before and he's a football player, so he's got decent sized legs, but it's all he's talked about. Chest today, Chest on Wednesday and Chest on Friday. He hasn't mentioned any other body parts and who the fuck says I'm working out with him after today? Fuck that. I'm busy.

We're the only ones in the gym; the other kids with no class did the smart thing and fucked off to the beach, doing chest exercises 'till kingdom come. We're doing our fourth set of bench. We've been at it almost an hour and I fucking hope Brad shows up soon. I haven't heard the bell yet, but I hope he just leaves and comes to fucking save me. If I actually had time between sets, I'd have fucking text him by now, but he talks and talks and fucking talks.

He's really pissing me the fuck off.

"C'mon, get it right down, right to your chest, touch and push up. Okay, rack."

He doesn't really give me the choice and pulls it back toward the rack on extension. "Rack? I had at least two more."

"Your form was shit Winchester. But don't worry, I'm going to build you up. So you and Brad are pretty steady now, hey?"

"We're not steady. Just dating," I clarify switching him places, so he can do his set.

"Don't worry, it won't be long, you should hear the way he talks about you, bro."

I don't know if I want to find out…well maybe a little. "Yeah? Like what?" I feel a little bit like I'm in a chick flick right now, talking about my Captain of the football team crush.

He smiles, but it's a make fun type a smile, a he's going to start singing the kissing in the tree song kind of smile. "It's not really the 'what,' it's that he can't stop talking about you and the tone…he's fucking happy, man."

When he's done his set I switch off with him again and start my next one—he makes sure to take a bit of weight off. Asshole. "Speaking of happy, I am too," he says.

"Oh yeah?" I say grunting out a rep. Maybe I'll have something good to tell Hannah later.

"Yeah, your friend Hannah is a sweet piece of ass."

Okay, that's fucking it. I rack the bar myself this time and sit up. "That all she is? Just a piece of ass to you?" Normally I wouldn't care; I know he's just being a dude even if he is an asshole, and let's face it, I can be the same kind of asshole, but Hannah's my best friend. Isn't there some kind of code against that? Talking about another 'bro's' friend that way? Thought there was…And Hannah actually likes the prick. Of course she does. Chicks never like the nice guys, and well, neither do dudes for that matter.

"Look Dean, it's nothing personal. I meant it as a compliment, she's hot, but you know not the 'take home to Mom' kind of girl."

He's just digging himself a bigger fucking hole, I smile, but it's not a nice smile. "You think you're a real tough guy, working out, playing football, fucking my friend and dumping her when you're bored of her?" I say standing up.

He stands up a little straighter too in response to my aggressive stance without even meaning to and holy fuck, he is big. Nowhere near the size of Brad, but bigger than me. "What? You think you can take me Winchester? Go ahead." The ways he says that, it's hard to tell if he is being a condescending prick. It's almost, nice, if that makes any sense. Like he really wants me to try, so he can 'teach' me. Like I'm the Luke Skywalker to his Obi Wan.

"That's it, use what I'm saying. Let it fuel you. Hit me. Hit me."

I don't make any moves.

"Maybe fighting's more your style. I can teach you that."

Why does he have to teach me anything? Hell why's he trying to be my friend so fucking hard?

"Do you need more? Something to give you the eye of the Tiger? C'mon Winchester, I'm saying you can take your best shot—a free be."

He's standing on the other side of the bench press from me, it's not exactly a great place of leverage, since that's what I'd have to use in such a situation being the smaller dude. Daddy always comments that it looks like I'll get my height back, since apparently I was pretty tall in my last life, but we're still not sure about size. Mark is right in that I'm a hard gainer.

And here's the other thing…I'm not really a great fighter. While it might be true that I've earned the most penalty minutes in hockey and get into shit all the time from Coach with how much I fight during games, it's a different kind of fighting. That I can do. In hockey, I'm a goon—a skilled goon, since I also have the highest scoring average in my division—but there's just not _that_ much skill required in goon fighting. This, _this_ is different, combined with, I know Mark is an experienced fighter. I remember hearing somewhere that he goes to one of those MMA fighting gyms. I know it would require a lot more to take him down than what I've got—I just don't feel like getting my ass kicked, 'cause let's be honest, that's what would happen.

But old Dean, he could fight. I don't know how I know that, I mean other than it makes perfectly good sense, but I also _know_ that. I'd really like to shut this guy up.

"It's not worth it, Mark. I don't want to fight you."

"C'mon Dean. See? This is what I mean. You back down, you live such a sheltered life. What if shit hit the fan? You need to be able to fight and I can teach you."

He's not wrong, but still no. "Well I'm not fighting you and this workout is over, permanently."

"I'm not saying the right things…what if I told you your girl Hannah has a slick pussy?"

"I'd tell you I already fucking know—I hit that forever ago." He's just trying to egg me the fuck on, I won't fall for it.

"Right after I fucked her, I fucked Amanda, then Cheryl. Hannah doesn't mean shit to me. How do you think she'd feel about that?"

My hands clench into fists. Not balled in frustration like when Papa or Michael tell me they don't want me doing something I don't want to; fucking clenched, ready to punch him. I forcefully turn myself away. "Eat me," I say, 'cept I never say things like 'eat me.' I start walking away.

"Next time, I'm going to make sure she knows how worthless she is to me, I'll make sure she sees me fucking someone else, anyone else."

"You sick son of a bitch. I swear to god, for your sake…"

He laughs like a fucking hyena. "For my sake? What are you going to do about it Winchester? Huh? What you going to do, _Dean_?"

Something goes off inside me, I turn back around and head butt Mark; there's a crunch, I may have broke his nose. He's stunned, but I'm just as stunned. I can't believe I just did that.

"Hey, watch the face. I said free be not fucking almost break my nose."

I swing to punch him in the side of the head, but he's ready this time and stops me. Without missing a beat I swing the other way and fast, this time too fast for him and I get a good head shot in. He's impressed.

"There we go Winchester, that's what I'm looking for. That's the spunk you need."

He's talking tough, but he's backing up like he's scared. I can't see the look in my eyes, but I know it's hard and fucking determined while being expressionless at the same time. I'm up on the bench and over the bar. Sizing me up, like he needs to again—because I'm suddenly different, he takes up some fancy pants fighting stance, probably one he learned at fucking 'Fight Club.' I don't need that shit, I smirk at him. When your life is at stake, rules and fighting etiquette don't matter; living matters. You do whatever the fuck you need to.

"Leave Hannah alone, also permanently." I turn to start walking away again. Whatever's came over me's left me.

"I don't think so, not after that. You owe me a fight."

"I don't owe you shit." I keep walking (you'll remember I did the right thing later if Papa asks, won't you?) but he's not letting me go; he jumps me from behind and fucking football tackles me to the ground. He lays in a good fucking couple of punches to my gut that wind me, some to my torso and one to my fucking face that's going to bruise for sure.

"C'mon, what would you do now, Winchester? Someone tackles you from behind, you got lucky before because you got me by surprise, now try to get out of this."

I struggle beneath his weight, but it's useless. He's a lot heavier than me.

"Where's that bad-ass look now? That fight to the death burn you had blazing a moment ago?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Get off me."

"Make me, Winchester."

I try, but I'm on my stomach and he's literally crushing the air out of me. "Fuck…I…I can't. Please, get the fuck off me." I can't breathe, well.

"Nope. Is that what you'd tell your attacker? You get me off."

Fuck. What the fuck is wrong with this guy? I try pushing away from the ground, struggling like fuck. I have no idea how to get away. Then he's got his arm around my neck, choking me. I hate this. I hate that I don't know how to deal with this shit, maybe he's right…doing me a favor, maybe I do need to learn this shit…

But when his arm squeezes harder around my throat, I start to panic and I'm struggling, which is only making me lose air faster. It's game over. I'm going to pass out. I can't seem to summon whatever was in me a moment ago—it doesn't seem to care that I'm being fucking choked out.

Least I think so, 'till I hear his voice in my ear. "I'm not going to leave Hannah alone, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

The fuck there's not.

I don't know where it comes from, but I suddenly know what to do—and it's awesome. I lead with another head butt that I don't land, but it allows me to roll him back and I can grab his foot, pull it into me and simultaneously press down on his knee. That makes him let go immediately, since it hurts like hell and I fucking gasp for air. But I've only got little time before he's on me again, so I spring up; he does too, and he's got me in another rear naked choke hold.

Now it's time for me to teach this son of a bitch a lesson.

In the ring there are rules. For instance, no butting with the head, no eye gouging, no biting, no punching another dude in the junk…and on and on and on…but when it's life and death, none of that exists. You know? Kill, or be killed. That's it. What a man can do and what a man can't do. This kid may know the rules of the ring, but I'm about to teach him the rules of life.

I'm on my feet, so I can pull him down enough to get a good whack in on his junk then I'm right back up with the fingers of my hand, going for his eyes. Just going for the eyes is enough for most people to throw their head out of the way, it's instinct actually and he does that now. I'm glad. I don't really want to gouge out his eyes, he may be a jack ass, but he doesn't deserve to lose his eyes. With his head back, it loosens the hold he had around my neck and I spin away, extra rotating his shoulder in the process and now I can use his larger size against him, the move throws him off balance. All it takes from me is a sharp tug at his elbow, almost no strength required, since I'm taking advantage of the inertia of my movement and he's on the ground on his knees. I spin his arm in a way that's not pretty; he's also immobile; one quarter turn and his arm will snap, but I don't do that even if he fucking deserves it. "Next time, I will fucking break your arm." And end any career he has in football.

I knee him in the stomach 'till I hear a familiar voice behind me. "Whoa, Dean. Dean!"

Brad pulls me off of _his_ friend and I'm shaking. I don't know quite _how_ I was able do all of that, but I know it wasn't me—least not now me. I mean, it doesn't take an astrophysicist to figure out that what I just did was remnants of old Dean. It's not the first time I've had old Dean around, but it is the first time _this_ happened. Problem is, there's so little of old Dean left, I'm just not him anymore, so it's fucking weird. It feels more like an old friend stepped in to help rather than it really being me. But if I can call upon old Dean to help protect me when needed, maybe I can get everyone to worry about me less.

Wait 'till I show Daddy. He's supposed to 'teach' me stuff, it will be fun to knock him on his ass this time.

"What in tarnation?"

Mark, the crazy asshole is laughing, good naturedly. "That, was awesome! Winchester, you have to teach me that shit." He's holding his stomach that I hope has bruises, his nose is already starting to bruise a bit. I wonder what I'm going to look like?

I just glare at him. I don't really know what the fuck to say to him, or well, I do but all of it might start a war and I just want him out of my face. He pats me on the back. "See ya tomorrow Dean. I'm going to hit the showers, he's all yours Davis."

I'm left with Brad who's looking at me like it was my fault. "Don't look at me. Your friend is the crazy asshole who almost choked me out." I push his hand away.

"Okay, it just didn't look that way. I'm sorry."

"And I hope you talk to him. We were having a great workout," I exaggerate. "Then he starts talking smack about Hannah and beating the crap out of me."

"That's just Mark, Sugar. He's trying to make friends."

"By beating the crap outta me? Hope I at least showed him I don't need his martial arts lessons."

Brad pulls me to him. "Be nice. It's just his way of looking out for you—that's what we do, we're a family. You can understand that, can't you babe?" He gives me his sexy-pouty eyes.

"Yeah," I sigh. "But could you tell him to lay off of me?"

"I can, but…you're going to have to do something in return, or it's going to make my life…difficult."

"Anything."

"Make more of an effort to be one of, the family? They've kind of noticed, so I've been really trying to talk you up. And haven't they proven they're good guys? I mean they did come out and help. Not saying they're owed anything, it was their pleasure, they're just feeling like you don't really like them."

Brad runs his thumb over my fingers and looks at me pleadingly. I do feel kinda bad. Not for what I did to Mark, he deserved everything he got, but yeah, guess I haven't been making an effort to get to know his friends and he's been real kind to Hannah. "We got that double date tonight, don't we? I'll be my charming self," I promise.

"Thanks. Means a lot and I'll talk to Mark. He comes on kinda strong."

"Kinda strong?"

"How 'bout I make it up to you. It's lunch I'll take you for burgers. Do you even have any classes today?"

"No."

He shakes his head at me. "Okay then. Let's blow off 'till my last class and I'll blow you off again."

"Deal."

"But before we do any of that, let's get you some ice—I think that's going to bruise."

"Yeah, okay." Fuck. Fuck my life. Michael is not going to be happy when he sees my face, or the bruises that are likely along my torso. Now I've got to come up with a way to talk Michael out of beating the crap out of Mark, even if I might like to see that myself.

~Sunday Night~

"So how much trouble am I in?"

"How much trouble do you feel like you're in?" I tease him a bit, since I've already figured some of this puzzle out and I know Sam will end up telling me the rest.

"Cas…"

"He's still got a year of high school left and college Sam," I go straight into. "And even after that, we'll make him come home for fundraisers."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew. You only ever challenge me on things to do with Dean…remember the time you broke your ribs?" I smile. "I figured it out this time after the third spanking I gave you."

"He's growing up so fast, he _grew_ up so fast and, well, what if…well I couldn't help thinking, what if this is the last fundraiser?"

"It's not even close to, Baby."

"If Dean runs off to be a hunter it will be Cas and I have a bad feeling I…"

Ah. There it is. "C'mere, Baby." I pull him onto the bed with me and I console him as he cries. My silly, silly, Sam. I knew he was upset over Dean even if I didn't know the specifics. Anytime Dean hits a milestone in his life, holidays, or big happenings. For instance, he's cried at every single one of Dean's birthdays and Christmases. When Dean started losing his teeth I had to spank Sam every tooth and then go leave our six-year-old an exorbitant amount of money for a tooth that was never there, because Sam couldn't.

When Dean graduated from kindergarten, Sam was inconsolable behind closed doors while he put on a huge smile for Dean who was super proud of himself. "Lookit Daddy! This says I'm smart!"

"Of course you are sweetheart."

Sam was stiff for days after the 'treatment' I had to give him to calm him down after that one imagining Dean moving away and going off to college. I had to promise him I wouldn't allow Dean to live in residence, so he'd have to live with us while he goes to school. I've often failed him when it comes to Dean because it's such a grey area. Sam has every right to feel the way he does about our son, but in this case, it took the form of a fundraiser insanity, and believe me, Colts don't need an excuse to get crazy over a fundraiser. They can do that without any reason at all.

"Dean thinks I'm going to kill you."

"As Dally would say, he's such a drama queen, but I almost don't blame him this time, you have been pretty strict with him," he sniffles. Sam is forever coddling our boy with no shame about it.

"That boy needs a good spanking and I hope Michael's giving it to him. I may just yet before I go away."

Sam laughs and wipes tears. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"I don't like it, but it's true."

"That why you gave your permission, Papa?"

I sigh heavy. That was a hard thing to do. "Yeah. Much as I'm able to guide Dean in a particular way, for this he needed Michael. I would have done a fine job, but Michael was the best for the task, so I put my jealous feelings aside."

"You're a good Papa."

I kiss him for that. "Thank-you Baby." If when I die all I've got is that I was a good husband and a good Papa, I'll take it.

"Cas I…I know I'm always coming up with these crazy scenarios every time Dean gets older, but this time it's this really bad feeling, in my gut. I didn't even want to think about it, let alone talk about it, but it's been sitting there anyway, no matter how much I try to ignore it and stuff it away in the corners of my mind. I'm actually glad you've been strict with Dean this time, I'm worried about him."

That in turn worries me. It makes me wonder if I should hire our men back to watch Dean, the ones we had when he was much littler. We were paranoid, still are, but we wanted Dean to have a 'normal' life and being followed around by someone isn't quite normal—it doesn't offer any privacy. In the end it wasn't fair to put our paranoia onto Dean because in reality there is never any guarantee on safety. There have been other times in his life we've felt need to hire them for a short time, but when we decided the coast was as clear as it was going to be, we cancelled their services.

"I know what you're thinking Cassy and while part of me wants to tell you to do it, please don't. Dean'll flip and besides I'm just being…me."

"Dean will do what he's told without argument, or he can be grounded. We decide what's best for him, we're his parents. And I will take this seriously—your gut feelings aren't usually wrong."

"They are sometimes and you know it."

"I'm more concerned with the times they're right," I say levelly and he knows not to argue. "I won't for now, but I will keep an extra close eye. Maybe Michael can get that Tom guy to help."

I push the hair away from his forehead. "But that's a concern for tomorrow, right now we need to worry about you." If Sam's been having those kinds of feelings, he's falling apart inside.

I sit him up and pull him up with me. "Remove your shirt."

He nods.

"Excuse me?" I haven't collared him, I'm not going to collar him, but I still expect a particular protocol. I don't consider us 'dom' and 'sub,' haven't in a long time, but this still falls under the category of 'play;' it's good to have some kind of difference to our everyday.

"Yes, sir."

All I need is a bit of simple rope, a wooden stool and a few implements for tonight. As soon as Sam's shirt is off, I get to work tying his hands behind his back. They're crossed, one wrist over the other and I make the rope thick by winding it multiple times and the knots secure. We always have a knife and a sturdy set of scissors on hand in case I ever have to cut him out, in the event of an emergency.

His breathing is rapid and a bit out of control, I haven't done anything yet; it's not a good sign. "Do you need to safe word? I'll still spank you for punishment, but without all this, either way you'll get what you need."

"No sir, it's just…you're disappointed in me. I've been horrible to you all week. I-I've been dishonest, disobedient—I haven't set a good example for Dean."

Of course I'm not worried about the example he sets for our son; he sets a fine example; best Daddy in the world—but that's not what he needs to hear right now. "We're going to take care of all that, aren't we? You'll be good from now on."

"Please, sir."

I check in with him by feeling his body for changes in temperature and I rub his arms, then his torso, smoothe my thumb over his cheek. His skin feels okay (no signs of clamminess) and eventually his breathing slows too. I don't know how Sam does it, but he's already floated away to that meditation, otherwise nicknamed 'subspace.' He's very good at it. Not that I have anyone to compare it to directly, but I have talked to both submissive types and dominant types; it's rare for anyone to slip into that space so quickly.

"You're going to be so good for me, aren't you? You'll do what I say from now on, won't you?" Until the next time something happens with Dean, but I leave that out. Tonight is about security—he needs to know that I'm here to take care of him and not let him do whatever he wants, which has not been displayed by my behavior of late. But I will continue to reassure him over the next few days and Sam will be unburdened.

"Yes, sir." A tear zigzags down his cheek; I wipe it away.

"You'll want to save those for later. You're going to need them."

I bend him over our bed and pull down his sleep pants, just enough, so his cock is out and will rub against the sheets and his ass is displayed for me. "You aren't cumming tonight, is that understood?" I say as I slick his crack with lube. "You are for my enjoyment."

"Yes, sir." It comes out as a bit of a groan. Sam always claims orgasm control is the hardest for him, yet I think he's a rock star at it.

"Good. Spread your legs enough to keep these pants exactly where I've placed them. Every time you disobey, that's a day in chastity. Obey me and I will reward you with the orgasm of your life before I leave."

"Yes, sir."

I use one of our many dildos to slowly work my husband open. Sam's ass is well seasoned and I can do this without harming him in anyway. God I love admiring his ass. It's large and muscled and perfect—both of us keep in good shape. His responses to the dildo make it that much more gorgeous, keening back, unable to do much of anything except take what I give him; trying not to grind into the mattress.

I take my pajama pants off and unleash my cock who's been dying to get inside Sam's tight ass since we got home. Age has done nothing to diminish my sex drive, or Sam's—thank the good Lord. I toss the dildo aside and slowly sink my cock into him. I go slow both for his benefit and mine. I love watching my cock slide into Sam's ass, it never gets old. "Oh, God. I love your cock, sir."

I'm not the kind that tells my 'sub' to be quiet, at least not anymore. Not that I never would, there's a time for it, sure, but not now. I'd rather hear him. I love hearing what Sam says. We've never been your standard sub, dom combo anyway, which is why we didn't spend so much time in 'the scene.' We learned what we needed to and left; Sam and I have always made our own way.

It doesn't take me long, which I'm sure he's grateful for and I'm cumming inside his ass. "You're mine, Sam."

"Yes, sir."

I pull him up and remove his sleep pants; I catch him looking at my cock, just a casual glance as he places his eyes where they're supposed to be, which is at the ground directly in front of him. I slap his ass hard for that and smile. "You'd like to lick the cum off my cock, wouldn't you, Baby?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you deserve to taste me?"

"No, sir."

"That's right. Maybe later, we'll see how well you can behave. Stay here."

I go into the closet to retrieve a stool I'd put there earlier. It's about four feet high and has a top that's rectangle shaped and only one foot by four feet, _just_ big enough for the large man to kneel on. It will be difficult for him to balance. It's completely made of wood, including the seat, and in our younger years, I would have had him kneel on the wood alone—his knees would have suffered along with the rest of him—but we are in our fifties despite the good care we've taken of ourselves and joints don't last forever. So when I bring out the stool, I fold a soft blanket and place it over the top to protect his knees.

"Come," I beckon Sam. His eyes widen when he sees what I've got; he knows what I use this for, it might be just this side of torturous. He doesn't like it much.

"Would you like to safe word?" I ask, even though I know Sam knows well he can and that Sam rarely safe words. There is no safe wording out of spankings in our house (that's what's agreed to upon entering a domestic discipline relationship,) but this is different, a whole other level and extending outside the realm of domestic discipline. For this, it's important he have an out.

"No, sir."

"Thank-you, Baby."

I gesture for him to take position; he knows how I want him. It's a bit difficult for him to maneuver his way onto the small seat with his arms tied at the wrists behind his back, but Sam's a pro and he manages with only a little difficulty.

He kneels in a bowed position, so with his chest toward his knees. Normally, he'd have the floor to support the weight of his chest, but on the stool he has nothing and his torso has to hang in space, his ass is nice and high for me, still oozing with my cum. None of it is comfortable. "You will take four implements in this position," I say knowing that's enough to make him cringe. Sam is an expert at taking pain, needs it even, but this position is hard. He'll feel off balance, his stabilizer muscles will have to work overtime, they'll get tired before long; he'll have to overcome his physical fatigue with intense mental strength.

Knowing Sam as long as I've known him has its benefits. Without him having moved, or uttering a sound, I know he's doubting his abilities. I run my hand over his bare flesh. "I know you can do this, Baby, or I wouldn't have you do it. It will challenge you, but you'll be able to do it." I've never asked Sam to take four on my special little stool. Three's the most he's ever taken.

"What's your safe word, Baby?"

"Red, sir."

I also know safe wording is not as easy as it sounds. Submissive-types are pleasers by nature, they want to make their 'dom' proud. As much as they might not want to do something, or like it even, they're apt to do it, because their 'dom' has requested it. It's the reason I chose this as punishment. Sam hates this, but it's meant to push his boundaries, show him what he's made of while at the same time reestablish our roles since he has stepped outside of those roles and he has displeased me in doing so. Considering all that, he's afraid he'll fail this punishment, that he'll displease me more by the failing—the very thing that earned him this punishment in the first place—but if he can make it through, he'll feel absolved inside. There is no scoreboard between Sam and I, but his personality can't help, but feel like he 'owes' me; this will even out the scoreboard in his mind. If he does this, he can stop thinking about what I might feel over his actions. So no, he won't want to safe word—it's why I've got to tell him over and over again that he should.

I'm not worried though: Sam can do this.

I start with my flogger. Flogger sounds scary, but it's a light implement, least this one is. This one will have more effect on his cock than it will his flesh. Sam moans as I work him over, hitting every bit of available skin. "You like that, Baby?"

"Yes, sir," he pants.

"It's too bad you're not allowed an orgasm tonight. I would have liked to make you cum so hard, but if you're a good boy, I'll let you suck my cock, so I can cum. I shouldn't be deprived for your poor behavior, should I, Baby?"

"No, sir. Please. I-I want to suck your cock so bad." He lets go another moan as I fleck at his skin that's turning a shade of pink. I make sure to spend a long time with the flogger, so his skin is warmed up as well as his cock. By the time I'm ready to take out my next implement, I know I've achieved both, Sam looks like he's experiencing that conundrum of pain and pleasure.

The next piece I take out is a tawse. "How you doing, Baby?"

"Good, sir. M-my cock is aching, sir."

All as expected. I don't expect he'll have real trouble 'till after this one—this one will hurt a lot more than the flogger. I begin on his ass, it makes him jump a little, and lose his balance just a bit, so he has to catch himself. The sadist in me smiles. He's already got the hang of how he should balance by the fifth strike to his ass, so I keep going with strikes that are enough to make his skin an intense cherry red, but not leave any marks. I plan to leave my marks with something else.

Sam likes leaving these sessions with markings—they're a trophy of sorts, something he'll wear proudly. People outside of 'the scene' often cringe at the thought of 'being marked,' but many 'subs' _want_ markings. Something to remember their 'dom' by, but in our case it's just Sam wanting to remember me all through the next day and remembering himself—what he's achieved. I'll make sure to give him some nice ones.

The tawse on his back is hard and makes him cry out. I'm not easy on him and I can already see him getting tired by the time I reach the tender bottoms of his feet. That's what starts the tears. I give him a little break and some water before I move onto the next thing, which is my strap and the belt I'll wear to work tomorrow. He can look at it, remember and shiver—Sam'll like that.

My belt is what I want to leave my marks with. Thick, red welts that are just slightly raised, but won't cut the skin, or make him bleed. Sam's skin is pretty tender by this point and he's fatigued. Balance is becoming an issue, I can see him fighting. "Please, sir. I-I can't take anymore—it's too much."

"No problem, Baby. I'll stop, just as soon as you safe word. Would you like to safe word?"

This is one of the ways deep trust comes in, in our relationship. Most only concern themselves with the 'dom' and the trust the 'sub' must have in the 'dom,' not to go overboard and hurt them beyond repair. They forget the trust has to go the other way: The 'dom' must be able to trust that their 'sub' will safe word. It isn't fair to the 'dom' if the 'sub' doesn't communicate in this way and makes them a dangerous partner for play.

But I trust Sam. He will tell me. We've already made this mistake when we were much younger; it's never happened again.

"No, sir."

"Okay then. I think you can take a lot more, Baby."

Sam is sagging on the stool by the time I reach the last implement. He's got little reserve left, but I'm going to push him, it's important I do. "Kneel up for me, Baby, I want to take a look at that cock of yours."

It takes effort, but he does it. It's practically purple. "I'll bet that hurts."

"Yes, sir." He's crying, but they're not the kind of tears that bother me. These tears I like and tears he needs. "P-please, may I cum, sir?"

"I don't think so, I meant what I said, Baby. All right, kneel back down, just one more." I know he's internally groaning and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to fucking loving that. My cock loves it; I hope to Christ he'll still have enough in him to suck my cock later.

I rub my medium cane across his ass and he squirms at the familiar sensation. "I want you to let go Sam. Feel my cane and feel everything let go. Do you know why you can let everything go?"

"Because you take care of me."

"That's right. I take care of you. You don't have to worry about a thing while I'm around. That seems to be a misunderstanding of late, but I think it's all cleared up now and if not, it will be after this. Yes?"

"Y-yes, sir."

I only give him a few on his ass, saving that place for something else. The rest, I apply to his back, shoulders and feet. He's crying and begging, but as much as he wants it to end, Sam will still be hard and leaking.

I throw down the cane and run a hand over the lovely, red skin which I've marked to my liking. "See? You did it, Baby. You were so, so good." I pull him up into a rough, possessive kiss.

Somehow, Sam finds the energy to smile hazily at me. "C'mon, let's get you down, we still have one more thing to take care of don't we?"

"Yes, Cassy."

Even without a collar, and therefore the removal of that collar, he knows when that portion of the evening has come to an end. Our dance has a series of practiced moves, twists and turns we've perfected over the years, we know how to navigate them without such signals as collars. We used to need them of course, but now we just know each other.

I untie the rope and I help him down, his legs a bit wobbly from being in the position so long. Before we do anything else, I want him back with me, so I help him over to the bed and lie with him a long while. I'll rub him down with aloe before we sleep and in the morning. I'll make sure he has a hot bath.

"One last thing," I say later, when I know he's back with me and I get up to retrieve the black rubber paddle. "Do you think you can lie over my knees Baby?"

"Of course, Cas. I've still got some years to go before that's my limit."

"You sound awfully cheeky for someone who's just been punished, so."

His laugh is soft. "I just want you to know I'm okay. You were right as always, I did it," he says proud of himself.

"Message received. Get your ass over my knees."

Despite his Dean-like cheek (sometimes I don't know who learned it from who) he's slow to get over my knees. "Do you know why we need to use this?"

"I broke a bunch of rules. Cas, I'm sorry, so sorry."

"And I know why you did, but who takes care of our home?"

"You do Cas."

"We decided that together, didn't we?"

"We did."

"How many rules did you break?"

"I think four, since you spanked me the last time."

"At least four. That's a lot Samuel."

"I know. I'm sorry, Cassy, I…please spank me?"

"Oh I'm going to. This is much more than 'Sam gone wild.' Whatever you're worried about over Dean, you come to me, despite what it might mean for Dean. Am I understood?" Fuck. Those two. Always 'protecting' the other, sometimes to the other's detriment. I get yet another thing I didn't before; Sam knew I'd want to hire security again and as aforementioned, Dean won't like that. I'm not concerned with what Dean will and won't like when it's with regard to his safety and Sam shouldn't be either. I feel a whole lot less guilty carrying through with this part of our agreement.

"Yes, Cas. You're right. But I really do think it's just me being paranoid, you know if I thought there really was danger, I wouldn't hesitate to hire security."

"I know, Baby. I know how much you love our son. But you should trust your intuition, it's been very good to us." I let him think about that as I rub his ass. "That makes four hundred. I'm going to start with fifty tonight—I think that's all your ass can take."

"And after…well don't I get to…"

"You still have the energy to suck my cock, Baby?"

"That's what kept me going through that awful punishment. 'Sides, I can feel what's poking into me, please, let me relieve you Cassy?"

I smile. "Who am I do deny you when you beg so prettily?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more "This is the Dean of our Lives" to go: Michael fun spankings, Brad and Dean double date with Kelsey and Ryan, Papa and Dean have a chat and Dean visits with Uncle Dal. This seemed like a bit of an interlude from that, hence the different name. 
> 
> Then TEXAS!


	18. This is the Dean of our Lives (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are going to just have to believe me when I say, the characters took complete control over this chapter and it's EXACTLY how they wanted it to go. I wrote in circles trying to get them to do something else and well...they wouldn't. I do think it's a highly entertaining chapter, but WARNING for angst.

Monday Afternoon-After School

I'm nervous as fucking hell.

I managed to make it through the rest of school without injury, but that's about to fucking end. Not that I'm going to be physically injured, but Michael is going to _flip_. When I get a freaking paper cut, Michael bans me from using all paper products until he feels comfortable I can be 'responsible' around them again. We usually end up cleaning his apartment at least once. When I play hockey, he sometimes gets kicked out of the arena—my father forbid him coming my whole first year, after it proved too difficult for him; in which he was the most irascible jerk. That almost got him forbidden from the house until Daddy had a talk with him.

But I've got a nice shiny black eye, even though I wasn't fucking punched in the eye. Apparently you only have to be punched in the eye/nose area to achieve black eye. We iced it, but that did shit. I was so stressed about it all day, I couldn't even do sex stuff with Brad.

At least I get to drive over, but I don't know if that's better or worse—prolonging the agony. Of course I'm going to try lying, but that's never worked out too well with Michael. I may have tricked him once, but that was an entirely different set of circumstances. I was able to tell a truth-lie. I'm having a little trouble coming up with one of those.

With absolutely nothing to go on (where are you now old Dean?) I enter his building with the fob I have, and Tom admits me before I have a chance to open the sliding door to Michael's loft. Tom's eyes widen in 'oh fuck' when he sees me. "Where is he?" I say in a bad fucking mood.

Tom, the angel, swallows. It doesn't matter that Tom has all his grace and has a fuck load more strength than Michael, Michael can be a scary mother fucker when he wants to be—this may well be cause for him to panic. "In his office, sir."

I head in. Might as well get this shit over with. Michael's on the phone and by the sound of it, it's fucking Lucifer. Of course it is. Now he'll be in a raging bad mood. "Yes, sir. I'll be there tomorrow Father." He hangs up his phone and puts it on his desk, scrubbing his hands over his face—he looks ragged. In much too tired a state to hang out or give spankings, in fact, it's probably better I just go…

I stand up to leave, that means I'm turned around so he can't fucking see my face. "Dean? Wait. Where are you going? Come back. I was looking forward to seeing you."

Okay. Might as well get this over with. I turn around; he's looking at me and all kinds of fucking emotions are sliding across his face. The most prominent one of all: Anger. "Dean? Your face…what the _fuck_ happened?" He gets up approaching me and god damn if he isn't terrifying. I start backing up just a bit and lose all my fucking gull. All I can do is stare at the menacing archangel. I know he won't hurt me; that's not soothing in the least.

"L-l-look, M-Michael…it was all a huge accident."

He grabs my face; his grip is incredibly gentle, like he's cradling an egg and is juxtapose with the homicidal rage coursing through his entire vessel. I sometimes forget the dangers in having an archangel for a bedmate; now I'm reminded. "Tell me. Dean." He doesn't even raise his voice an octave, doesn't change how deadly it sounds. So, um, abort fucking mission. I'm not lying, but maybe I can phrase it so it sounds more like my fault? Mark's a dick, but he doesn't deserve death and Michael will kill him.

"O-okay, but you're freaking me out. Can we turn down the archangel on a rampage just a notch?"

"No."

Fuck. I take a deep breath, my heart is beating like fucking hummingbird wings. "I-I was working out with this dude and we got into a bit of a scrap—it was all my fault, all my fault," I say twice hoping to Christ he'll hear it. "He got a few in on me, but that's it. You should see the other guy. Brad came in time, he stopped us."

Michael knows I can't fight and considers me a defenseless puppy, but telling him about my brush with old Dean isn't going to make any difference right now and I'd rather keep that one to myself if I can.

He hurls himself away from me and takes his anger out on his desk, flipping it over and sending it flying at the wall. All the pictures hanging, smash and the standing lamp in the corner breaks in half. "What good is it, having a giant football jock boyfriend, if he can't even _fucking_ protect you when necessary?"

"H-he was in class."

"Why weren't you in class?" he says spinning back around.

Shit. "English is done for term, I had a spare."

"I'll risk making an ass out of myself and assume your parents don't know?"

I run a hand through my hair. "No, okay."

"How many classes do you have left Dean?"

I skip all my normal, 'it's not your business,' bullshit. "Just two."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He's going to see anyway. I lift my shirt. "Just a few bruises here, but I'm okay, Michael."

He comes over to inspect them and I don't think he thinks they're 'just a couple of bruises.' "It was stupid, just two boys goofing around, it's no big deal…"

He pulls my shirt back down roughly. "It's not 'no big deal.' This is a very big deal. Who the fuck did this Dean? I'm going to rip their lungs out."

"Just a kid from school," I say. No way am I fucking telling him.

Michael grabs me and pushes me up against the wall. "Who, Dean?"

I have to repeat over and over in my head that Michael won't hurt me, because there is a sliver of doubt creeping in. _Man the fuck up Winchester_. It's hard to do, but I do it anyway. "I-I'll f-f-fucking tell you when, you've c-calmed the fuck down."

He holds me there for a minute, piercing me with his eyes and I'm holding my fucking breath; I really don't know what he's going to do. Finally he releases me, he seems to have somehow worked a temporary noose around his temper. "That's fine Dean. Don't tell me, I can find out on my own, but until then I have to make sure you're safe."

Huh? What the fuck is he going to do?

He grabs one of my wrists, then the other and traps them over my head pushing me back against the wall again. Normally I'd make some kind of sexual remark, but I'm not stupid enough to just now, instead I'm reminded once again how useless I am up against an archangel, or an angel of any kind. He can throw me around like a ragdoll if he chooses and there's not a god damn thing I can do about it. In our everyday, he holds back.

He reaches in my pocket and takes out my keys. "Tom!"

Tom's there in a flash, Michael throws him my keys. "Take Mr. Winchester's vehicle home for him, I will be escorting him from here."

"What? Michael. What the fuck are you doing?"

He let's me go and starts walking expecting me to follow. Tom's gone.

"I'm taking you home. We're going to sort this out properly. I don't know who the culprit is at school, until then, your parents should know how much free time you have, so it can be limited. You clearly don't trust me, so we'll have them take care of it."

Oh god. This is worse than I imagined. I'm going to be sick. "I trust you Michael, but you said yourself you were going to rip the guys lungs out."

"Oh. Did you think I was offended? I'm not offended I was simply stating a fact. You _can't_ trust me not to kill this human miscreant who thinks you're a punching bag."

"It's against the law to kill people, Michael."

"Against the law? You think I care about 'against the law?' I'm a fucking angel, Dean. I couldn't care less about human laws."

I'm not going to win at that one for the moment, so I move to something of more immediate concern. "Michael, please don't fucking tell my parents."

"They're going to see your face anyway. How were you planning on hiding that one?"

"I figured you'd want to heal me when you saw."

"You're forgetting, I need Daddy Winchester's permission to heal you."

"What? It's not like you haven't healed me without his permission before."

"Things have changed. I've become part of the family."

"Nothing's changed—you always were Michael."

"Your father is beginning to respect me even if he still hates my guts; lots has changed Dean."

"Why do you fucking care about his respect? I don't fucking get you Michael."

He shakes his head. "You don't fucking get it Dean."

He looks severely disappointed in me for reasons I don't know, but I can't stand it. I look at my feet. He slides his hand to my cheek on the side with the fucking bruise. "I'm sorry, Duck, but you don't know what this does to me," he says gently running his thumb over my bruised face.

"Can't we just Pine-Sol the shit out of your loft? That always makes you feel better. And have you already forgotten about Michael fun spankings? That is why I'm here." I grab onto his arm.

"I will be using lots of Pine-Sol, later and I've got plenty of time to collect on Michael fun spankings. You didn't put any time limit on that and I intend to take full advantage. But Dean," he says.

"Yeah?"

"I'm still taking you home right now and we're still telling your parents."

Yeah, I figured.

~DM~

He's quiet in the Jeep and I'm trying to figure out a way to not get grounded for the rest of my life. And it's not just grounded I'm trying to avoid, I don't want my parents to think less of me; they'll be so disappointed I fucking lied to them, because Papa considers purposefully omitting shit, lying. Which means I have to lie again to prevent them from finding out the lie I told in the first place—but it will all be worth it, believe me.

"Can't we figure something out between us, Michael? About the me skipping school part? We don't have to tell them that part."

"I want you doing something while you're at school, not trouncing around doing whatever you like—it's not safe."

I want to point out that someday I'll be an adult, trouncing around in life and what will he do then, but I don't think that would be wise at this juncture. "I'll do whatever you say. I swear. You want me to hang out in the library researching how many different spanking instruments you can use on my ass?"

He's thinking about it, but he's not giving me an answer yet. "You have a meeting with your father tomorrow, correct?"

I think it'll get bumped up to today if he fucking rats me out. "Yes. Tomorrow."

"That's when you're going to inform him how many classes you're finished; you can say you've just finished. He can decide what's appropriate as I think my solution would be…intrusive."

"Okay, yes, done." Phew, dodged a fucking bullet there.

"And you're not going out at all this week Dean."

Wait. What? "But what about tonight and—"

"I suggest you find a way for them to rendezvous at Casa de Winchester," Michael says in a don't fucking fuck with me voice. I shut the hell up. He's not telling my parents, more specifically my father and that's good enough. I can work out the rest later.

Baby's there when we pull up to the house with no sign of Tom. I also hope to fuck Papa's not home, maybe once Daddy calms down, he can talk to Papa for me. But then I remember how gaga the two were this morning—I doubt he went to work at all.

Michael and I walk into the kitchen and I was right, they're both there, my somber appearance dampens the smiles on their faces. "Oh my God. Dean, sweetheart what happened?"

I tell them the abridged version, Michael and I agreed upon and I make sure not to bite my fucking lip the whole time. "It was just two bros scrapping—that's it. It was playful." I don't feel like that's a lie. Mark did seem like he was having fun and as much as I disagree with him, it was his version of goofing around.

"Brad and I iced it, Daddy, but it didn't seem to do much." I'm sitting on a chair and the two of them are looking me over. I feel six again. I can't stand the stares they're giving me and the looks they're exchanging having one of their silent conversations about me.

"Who is this kid, exactly?" That's Papa and I can't ignore his question, but I can't tell him either, not with Michael standing there.

"I'd like to tell you Papa, but Michael said he's going to rip his lungs out; maybe even kill him."

"Nobody is killing or ripping anyone's lungs out, do you understand Michael?" Papa says.

"He hurt, Dean."

"I don't like it either, but boys do roughhouse, I'm just disappointed you'd do such a thing at school, young man. Weren't there any teachers around?"

"I tried to walk away Papa. I swear I did, he tackled me. We were in the gym, it's not watched by teachers and especially not at lunch."

"It looks like the trust the teachers place upon students in giving them that privilege is misplaced. Furthermore, he doesn't sound like someone I want you hanging around with."

"No problems there, Papa. I don't even like the kid." Let's hope it continues to escape everyone's notice that 'the kid' is a friend of Brad's or they might not want me hanging out with Brad either.

"Okay, I think that matter is settled."

Phew.

"May I heal him, sir?" Michael interjects.

Papa looks at Daddy, who's been awfully quiet. Daddy shakes his head. "No Michael."

Michael growls and refrains from smashing anything.

"I'm not comfortable with you going out tonight Dean. I'm sorry, you don't know what seeing your face like that does to me," Papa says.

And Michael and Father say they never agree on anything.

"I'm sorry Dean Bean," Daddy finally speaks up. "I'm with your father on this one."

He would have said that anyway, but I know what he means. "Yes, sir," I say to them both. "Would you be all right with my friends coming here?"

Papa looks to Daddy and he nods. "Your friends may come here."

This actually works in my benefit, it's much easier to explain Papa said I couldn't go out than to explain Michael said so.

No one can stop looking at me and I just want to get the fuck out of here before someone figures something out, or Michael cracks and tells them the truth. Daddy's looking at me the most, still real quiet and it's making me fucking nervous.

"So, uh, Daddy you got any after school snacks for me? I'm starved."

Finally Daddy cracks a smile. "Sure, Dean Bean. I'll whip you up a Deanwich. Michael you want one?"

I kind of hope he'll leave actually, I don't trust him not to break. The longer he stares at my face, the more of a liability he becomes. "Yes please, sir. I'd love a Deanwich," he says taking a seat next to me in a purposeful way that says something too: He's not going anywhere for as long as he can. He doesn't even fucking like Deanwiches.

Thank God Papa has work to do. "Well Winchesters, I must depart. Lots to get together for work before my trip. I shall see you all at dinner."

When he leaves we now have something else to marvel over. "Whoa Daddy, did you hear that?"

"I know. Wow. Your father must be in a good mood," he says knowing he's the reason for that good mood.

"What? What'd'I miss?" Michael says.

"He called us all Winchesters Michael. You are so in," I wink at him. Hoping it fucking gets his mind off of my bruised face. I don't think anything will, but it's worth a shot.

It does surprise him more than I thought it would. "He, he did? _He_ did. I…wow." He's smiling huge; I think he's proud of himself.

Daddy's quick with the Deanwiches, he sets one before each of us. "Cas really appreciates you bringing him home with his face like that, Michael. You did the right thing and earned yourself some brownie points."

Michael blushes. "I guess. I was only doing what I thought was right."

Fucking suck up. I nudge his knee with my knee, but when he looks up at me he's smiling like you think angels would smile and I can't help it, I'm staring at him and I can't stop.

"All right, three's a crowd. I'm gonna leave you two alone," Daddy says clearly seeing we're having some kind of a moment. "What time are your friends coming over Dean? You want me to make snacks?"

"Um, yeah. That'd be great Daddy," I say still looking at Michael. "I'm not sure on a time though, can I get back to you?"

He stops by and kisses my crown. "Sure, Dean Bean." And he's gone.

Michael's face sinks back into his scowl. "Aw, c'mon Michael, I thought we were celebrating. Papa's starting to like you."

"Papa," he says in air quotes, "is mildly accepting me. I'm not fooled. And I'm still pissed at you."

"It wasn't my fault, Michael."

"You know what I'm referring to."

"Can I make it up to you? I could suck your—"

He slams his fist down on the table. I jump. "Sex is not going to solve all our problems, Dean."

I'm quiet after that, because I'm trying not to fucking cry. I stuff my face with Deanwich, while he stares at said face, until he can't anymore and pushes away from the table. "Where you going?"

"To plead with Daddy Winchester. I can't look at it Dean and not have homicidal thoughts. Your father may not accept me long, because when I find out who did this, I am going to kill them."

Yep. This still went every bit as bad as I thought it would, but I decide it could have gone worse, Michael could have ratted me out for the school thing, so I'm grateful for that much.

But now I'm fucking alone and feeling sorry for myself anyway. I wipe the tear away, with the back of my hand, the one that's been threatening to fall for a while now. I'm not so upset I can't eat though, I finish my sandwich and clean up the plates. Michael's sandwich is almost untouched, except a bite or two, so I put it in a container in the fridge, that'll be a great snack later.

I text Brad and have to break the news to him. I heavily, stress the idiot thing his friend did and he's more apologetic this time, considering the fucking hell it's resulted in for me. He says it won't be a problem to have the double date at my place and that seven should work.

Michael looks sullen and defeated when he comes back, I guess Daddy told him off. "I'm going to go now, Duck. You're staying here," he reminds me.

His hand slides over my face again, just touching my bruises, but not pressing on them, so they would hurt. "You sure you don't want to Michael fun spank me? It might…make you less mad at me."

"Definitely not. That would just make it more confusing. I don't want you feeling like you emotionally owe me anything."

"I don't see the difference—either way I owe them to you. I lost the bet, remember?"

"That is much different and if you don't understand the difference, then it's a good thing you have me to point it out to you."

We're quiet for a minute, just staring at each other. "Michael? I don't want you to go all mad at me. Please, just tell me what I can do to make you less mad."

"You're doing it, by staying here, though breaking the legs of the atrocity who did this would do wonders as well. It's not like you're any good at fighting back, he could have done much worse—I should have been there."

I change my mind. Maybe telling him what happened would help. I smile. "I kicked his fucking ass Michael."

"What?"

"Yeah. It was amazing—I'm not sure where it came from, but suddenly I was the fucking karate kid of everything."

His jaw gets tight and his eyes narrow; it's not quite what I was expecting. I'm fucking striking out all over the place with Michael; you'd think I didn't know him at all. "I am displeased. You should have told me this before. I get the lying to your parents thing, that's normal teenage behavior, a rite of passage sort of thing, but we are different. This is meant to be a relationship of trust and I feel like I can't trust you Dean."

I feel like someone took all my breathe away.

"It's one thing to tell me, Michael, you don't look fat in that dress, but another to hide something like this considering who you were. This is something a partner would want to know."

Now I'm pissed. "Oh? So we're partners now?" I say as fucking sarcastically as I can.

"I guess not."

Now we're both in a fucking stand off and we've done this enough to know it's just going to fucking escalate from here, Michael and I know exactly how to hurt the other one. We're both ready to draw our metaphorical pistols, but then Michael takes a deep breath to calm himself. "I have to go before I say more things I'm going to regret. Not a toe off this property, Dean, except to go to school. I expect to be obeyed."

He leans in and presses a hard, possessive kiss to my lips and fuck if my dick doesn't harden. I'm so upset and emotionally wrought, I didn't think I had it in me, but I guess dudes really are different than chicks in that way. I nod when he pulls away. "I will, I swear, Michael." I grab onto him in a desperate attempt to keep him here a moment longer and jump up so my legs are wrapped around him too. I know I'm being fucking dramatic, but I dunno, this whole thing's sprouted this pit of despair in my stomach.

Fucking thankfully, he wraps his arms around me tightly. "I'm a fucking angel Dean. I still don't think you know what that means. You're my…my profound bond; that makes it worse. I don't have the words to articulate how it feels knowing some asshole beat you up and I can't do a single thing about it, not even heal you. I feel useless to you."

"You're not Michael, I swear." I'm crying into his shoulder and I think I get what he doesn't know how to say. Getting me to stay home is the only control he has over the situation. He feels like he's doing something to protect me.

He lets me go and I hop down, wiping my fucking eyes. "Are we, are we good?"

"I'm angry Dean, but we will be good. I need to fucking sort this out in my head. Just have fun tonight, okay? Don't worry another thought about it."

I nod, but I don’t know how that's fucking possible. "Okay."

He gives me another kiss then he's gone and there's only one thing that can fucking cheer me up right now.

He's in the living room, kicking back with a book. "Daddy?"

Daddy knows right away. He puts his book aside and opens his arms. "C'mere Dean Bean."

I fall into his arms, so fucking grateful for them and Daddy lets me cry to my heart's content all the while running fingers through my hair. "It's going to be okay, Dean. I know it seems like the end of the world right now."

"I'm such an idiot, Daddy. I'm always doing the wrong thing with Michael."

"That's part of relationships sweetheart. You don't think your father and I had our share of fudge-ups?"

"You two are perfect."

He bursts out laughing. "We are not perfect Dean and we're not trying to be. In the beginning, and that just so happened to be about when we were your age, we made so many mistakes. We even broke up once."

"I know Daddy, doesn't mean I like to be reminded of it." 

"Don't concern yourself about that sweetheart, your papa and I aren't breaking up ever again."

"Jesus H. Daddy. Don't talk to me about stuff like that."

He laughs, but I don't think it's funny.

"Well there will be no break-ups in this house thank-you very much."

"Because Dean says so?"

"Yeah because Dean says so. Jeez Daddy, I'd never survive it."

"You don't worry about it, I'm sorry I freaked you out. You're so sensitive," he teases.

Yeah I'm fucking sensitive about that. "So the get along game comes over at seven. What'cha gonna make for us?"

"Depends. What will you do?"

"Maybe play some pool. Watch a movie."

"Beer and peanuts it is."

My eyes go wide. "You'd let us drink beer?"

He bursts out laughing. "No, but you should have seen your face." He's using his Colt ways to make me laugh. It's working.

"Not nice, Daddy," I tell him, but I'm laughing.

"How about I surprise you? I'll make it good. I'm so excited, I'm really glad you're making some friends."

"I have plenty of friends."

"But not from school. I think you should have some school friends."

"There you go. Friends. Will you stop worrying?"

"Never. Not even when I'm gone. I'll be up in heaven looking down on my Dean Bean."

"You were supposed to make me feel better, Daddy, this conversation is seriously bumming me out."

He smiles. "Okay, okay. Tell you what, go change then come help me make dinner and I will let you drink one beer while we cook. One. This is not license for you to drink, Sur."

I throw my hands up like I'm in a stick up. "I won't. I won't. Jeez." They believe in the whole 'teaching me how to drink responsibly' thing, so it doesn't happen all the time, but on very rare occasions.

"Okay, get. I'll see you in twenty. And we're going to ice that eye some before your friends get here, I'll put some arnica on it before bed."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me Dean Winchester?"

"Yes, sir."

~DM~

We hang out downstairs in the rec room where the pool table is and Daddy out does himself, seriously fucking excited about me having friends over. We get popcorn, and a whole bunch of Daddy approved junk, like some of his homemade brownies he took out of the freezer and warmed up and even some chips which I didn't even know we had in the house, but they're the fucking fancy kind, made with 'real' potatoes and sprinkled with sea salt. They do taste a helluva lot better than the other kind. He also makes us a special non-alcoholic beverage. My new friends are very impressed with Daddy, but they're fucking scared of Papa.

He of course had to 'meet them' (even though he'd already met them on the day of the big fundraiser cooking party) and I'm pretty sure he liked Kelsey and Ryan, but when we got downstairs, they were spooked by him enough to comment. "Whoa dude, your dad didn't seem that strict the first time. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with him. He looks like the ground first, ask questions later kind of guy."

They have him to a tee, but I feel fucking defensive. He might be a strict guy, but he's the best Papa I know. "He's just protective. He's a good guy once you get to know him. Besides, you'll have to excuse him, he's a bit pissed about this," I say pointing to my eye.

"Right, we're sorry about that Dean," Kelsey says.

"Not your fault."

"We feel responsible, since he's one of us. A few of us talked to him, including your sweetheart," Ryan says nodding toward Brad who's behind me. "Mark feels bad, he'll leave you alone."

That must mean he didn't voice a word of complaint about the shit-kicking I gave him. I kind of feel like a bit of a pussy. "Thanks for, uh, saying something that is." I remember I promised Brad I'd try hard to be friendly. "It was just, surprising."

After all that's out of the way, the night is fun. I like Kelsey and Ryan. They are the most normal of Brad's football family and well, Kelsey is only football family by 'marriage,' she's not a cheerleader, maybe that makes her a little more 'normal.'

There's only one thing bubbling under the surface of the evening, but it never really reaches a peak, so I consider the evening a success in general. First, I realize that I feel zero weirdness toward Kelsey, because if you'll remember, we did fuck. But that's all it was. She must not have told Ryan, or I'm sure he would be marking his territory all night—which is what I think Brad's fucking doing.

I stupidly told him about Kelsey and I on our first date, which I also assumed would be our last date. He keeps pulling me close to him all night and I can tell he doesn't like it when Kelsey and I laugh at something together.

After a couple rounds of pool, we decide to watch the movie in the dark, so we can make-out, as teenagers do, though I really fucking hope neither of my parents come downstairs. They seem to be leaving us alone for the most part, in some ways my parents can be kinda 'cool.'

Ryan's busy with Kelsey, so Brad feels free to massage my dick through my jeans as he kisses my neck. And sucks a little more than he should. "Brad," I hiss at him. "Michael will be pissed if you leave hickies." I don't need to fucking deal with that shit right now.

"Sorry, Sugar. You're just so delicious."

"And you want to fucking mark me," I whisper in his ear.

"I…"

"It's okay, babe. Normally, I'd really like that."

He smiles and we continue to tease each other through the whole fucking movie. It's maddening and I'm definitely going to have to tug one out later, but it's fun and Brad has me giggling by the end of the night; he's somehow managed to make me forget all about my fight with Michael and have a good time. Ryan and Kelsey are too distracted with each other to worry about us. When we get close to their school night curfews, we head upstairs, they respectfully head into the upstairs living room where my parents are, to thank them. Daddy turns on his southern charm. "It was my pleasure. Y'all come back now, y'hear?" Could he be anymore clique?

I head back in after saying goodbye to…I guess my friends. That was a positive experience and I think they want to hang out again.

"How's the eye, Kiddo?" Papa asks.

"I'm okay."

"I want to ice it a bit more, fetch me some ice from the freezer? And also the arnica, some white bandages and a wet dishcloth baby."

I go do as bid, not wanting to mess with Daddy when he goes into his taking-care-of-Dean mode. Both Papa and I know the folly of that. When I come back, he gets me to lay with my head on his lap as he carefully ices around the eye without icing my actual eye, since you can actually freeze your eyeballs. When that's all done, he spreads the arnica around my eye and puts the bandages on in such a way they don't cover my eye, but the arnica won't get in my eye. "That'll reduce it a ton, we can take that off in the morning."

"Thank-you, Daddy."

"Okay, Dean. Bedtime, you've got school in the morning," Papa says.

I might as well come clean now, save me one thing to dread about tomorrow. "About that, I've been meaning to tell you, some of my classes are done, I don't have class in the morning."

Papa doesn’t look pleased. "I would have appreciated knowing, son."

"I know, sir. But with the fundraiser, well I just never got around to it." That's not a lie. If I had intended on telling them, I wouldn't have been thinking about it anyway. Daddy's looking at me a bit funny, I check my lip; not biting, but for some reason I still don't feel safe from his methods of derision. If he suspects anything, he doesn't say.

"Come here, please."

Crap. I walk over to Papa like I'm walking the plank. When I get to him, he hauls off and whacks me good, but just once. I'm still left rubbing my ass.

"Go to bed, Dean" he says smirking at me.

"Yes, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Papa can be funny too.


	19. The One Where Dean's Lies Catch Up to Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though this chapter is heavy in some parts, I hope you can see the humor.
> 
> Also, CrazyJellyFish had an idea long ago (and now I finally get to it): Couldn't Michael and Brad share some kind of joint custody of Dean? I liked the idea as something to have fun with, so some of the 'jokes'/'jesting' and things that happen will be an ode to her idea. Thanks JellyFish!
> 
> ETA: Forgot to mention. I pickled beans last night! Thought everyone would want to know since it was such a big Winchester drama for a while! Ha! I only did 12 jars though. I've got nothing on Sam and Dean.

~TUESDAY~

Papa leaves tomorrow and as usual, there's a little of that somberness in the air. We've all gotten used to it—apparently I was quite a terror when I was little and missed Papa.

"Good morning, Kiddo. You sleep well?" Papa asks me when I wander down to the kitchen all dressed for school. No one said I could stay home, since I don't have class first thing, and I'm not daring enough to inquire.

"I didn't stay up on my phone all night if that's what you're asking, Papa. I'm not that stupid."

"Me? Would I imply such a thing?"

"Yes you would, Sur," Daddy says to Papa serving us all some breakfast and sitting down with us. We laugh. Ah. Back to normal, for now.

"I'm caught and I’m glad to hear you went to bed when I told you to, a trend I expect you to continue while I'm away until you're done exams."

"Yes, sir. And after that?"

"Well, it is the summer, so I can make some allowances, but I expect you to take care of yourself Dean."

"We all know you get sick as soon as we land in Texas, maybe we can avoid that this year if you get some extra sleep."

"What? I do not. I'm not a little kid anymore, Daddy."

"Yep. Every year since you were three-years-old."

"That can't be true."

"We remember sweetheart—we were the ones not getting any sleep," Daddy winks at me. "But we didn't mind a bit, did we Cassy?"

"Not in the least," Papa lies unconvincingly.

"How's your face, Dean bean?" Daddy asks.

"It's fine. Though I gotta say, after all the kafuffle yesterday, I'm surprised Michael's not—"

"Hello Winchesters," Michael says more cheery than he actually is as he waltzes through the sliding glass door of the kitchen interrupting breakfast. Papa's glaring at him. Oh, so last night it's all 'we want to do everything Castiel Winchester approves of,' but this morning, he decides to get directly on Papa's nerves.

Michael grabs my chin and starts looking over my face. "This looks hideous."

"Thanks, jerk."

"Dean," Daddy says.

"Jerk's not a curse word now, is it?"

"Sit down, Michael. Now," Papa says. "Dean, please use more respect. While you and Michael might be okay with speaking to each other like that, within the bounds of your relationship, I do not allow that at my breakfast table, as you well know."

I want to look at my plate, but I know he'll appreciate me looking him in the eyes. "Sorry, Father."

Michael has taken a seat over the course of my scolding from Father and he's got his eyes on me; they're only marginally less heated than last night. "Would you like some breakfast, Michael?" Daddy offers.

"No thank-you, sir."

Since breakfast has suddenly become a standoff of Michael staring at me and Papa staring at Michael (pissed he's interrupted breakfast) I decide to resume eating, again, happy things are back to normal—I hope this means they'll talk less.

"So why you here, Michael?" I say _after_ I've chewed.

"You don't know?"

I look to my parents, they both shrug not really knowing for sure, but they can probably guess. "No."

"I am here to escort you to school."

My stomach drops. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Until the culprit is apprehended, I don't feel safe with you at that place."

Jesus Christ. And there's zero point in arguing with him when he's like this. He'll calm down once my face doesn't look like night of the living dead.

"And when you can't be there?"

"Tom. He's picking you up, actually. I have to do something for my father later."

Tom. Yipee. Not that he's a bad dude; I hate having a fucking babysitter.

"One of you should accompany me. I am not his parent and can do virtually nothing in terms of legal action with the school. We should speak with the principal, the dean, whoever's carelessly running that _place_."

"We appreciate your concern, Michael," Papa says in his business like manner. "If it happens again, we will do so, but for now it's over and so is this discussion. Am I understood?" he says in his 'Father Winchester has spoken voice.'

"Yes, sir," Michael growls. Great. I get to drive to school with a pissed off angel.

"Dean, I expect you in the library during all of your spare blocks—I don't want you hanging out in the gym if there's no supervision. Besides, you'll be busy with this."

My stomach takes a further plunge as Father hands me the dreaded blue piece of paper, which is deceptively small for the amount of words there are always written on it. It's the stationary he uses when he assigns lines. Daddy and I hate lines.

"Seven hundred times, no spelling mistakes. Due Friday. Daddy will have to look it over seeing as I won't be here."

Fuck. Fuck me. "What're these for?"

"You're a smart boy, most of the time, you'll figure it out. We will talk after school, which you should get to, you'll want to start on that, if you're going to have them done on time."

~DM~

I'm a bit of a dick to Michael on the way to school, who I know is only concerned for me, but this whole episode has seriously cramped my style. I read over the long ass set of lines Father gave me and as is probably a surprise to no one, they are for not telling him about the finished classes.

And I can already hear what Daddy would say about this whole thing, it was my choice, my _poor_ choice that got me into trouble, not Michael telling me to come clean—which they don't know he inspired. Okay. Maybe my list of half truths have caught up with me, but still. It sucks.

Michael's not impressed with me either, his mood hardly improved from last night. "I don't see why you're upset with me. You brought this on yourself."

"Keep talking like that, I'm sure you'd be able to convince the principal you're one of my parents." I say calmly, though I feel like screaming at him, but I remind myself that Winchester's don't need to yell.

"At least your father has enough sense to confine you to the library. Let me see that note, I might have something I want to add," he continues on like I never spoke.

"Forget it. I'm not giving it to you. I shouldn't get punished twice for the same infraction. Isn't it enough you've grounded me?"

"You aren't grounded. Confining you to the house was a safety precaution. Nothing more."

Michael probably does look at it that way. "Fine," I say handing it over before he comes up with something else.

He reads it while he drives, able to do both at once with his heightened angel abilities; his eyes bug out of his head. "Whoa. Never mind. He was…thorough. I'm almost sorry."

"He's always 'thorough.'" And note to the audience at home how Father felt no guilt, nor did his expression falter when handing over the awful thing. I think my father could have been a good mob boss with that fucking immovable expression of his. "So can we please drop this Michael? They took care of it, like you wanted them to. I hate fighting with you."

Something in my world just isn't right when we're at odds.

"When you tell me who did that," he says pointing to my face. "I will drop it." He pulls into my school's parking lot. "See you tomorrow Duck. Tom will be by to pick you up. Straight home."

My blood boils just a little bit at him saying that, because I know already, I even asked Uncle Dal if he could come by the house, instead of me going to his. But before I tell him to fuck off, and get in more trouble, I notice something in his eyes and it makes me sorry for him instead. He really is ridiculous level worried about me and I'm doing nothing to make him feel better. He always does everything to make me feel better—well, unless it has to do with me being in a dangerous situation.

All thoughts of walking away and not kissing him, melt away. Besides, I know his father gets him to do dangerous things, even if he won't tell me what things, and when he leaves me for those ventures, it could be the last time I see him—I try not to think about that most of the time, but when we leave each other angry, it sticks out in my mind. I grab him by the collar of the shirt he's wearing under his blazer and pull him in for a kiss. "You're a real dick Michael," I say when I pull away; it's so juxtapose to how much love I put into the kiss it surprises him.

"But I'm…I'm—"

"Yes. You're mine. My dick. So come back to me okay?"

"Always Duck."

~DM~

After last night, I'm in with Ryan and Kelsey, according to Brad, which is good because I told him I'd better skip lunch in favor of my lines and can't hang out with him. That's a huge disappointment to him, specially seeing as he wants me to befriend his football family, but he's more surprised I'm actually skipping lunch and thinks the real Dean's been abducted by aliens.

"If I fail to get these lines done on time for my father, I'll wish I could be abducted by aliens," I say and he laughs thinking I'm joking. I'm not.

Lucky I'm pro level at eating when the Librarian's not looking. I also made the mistake of telling too many people where I was, so I've had quite a few visitors, that means I've hardly completed any of my lines, which are as follows:

_I Dean Daniel Jonathan Winchester, thought it would be a good idea to 'forget' to tell my parents I've completed some of my classes this semester, likely so I could goof off, but it was a poor choice, since now I'm stuck writing as much nonsense, as my father can dream up to keep me busy, instead of what I might have been permitted to do. I guess I'll never know. The most important take away for me and my budding social life: If I do it again, I can expect to be grounded for the entire summer. I'll remember because I'll have written this seven hundred times._

Yeah, _he_ probably thinks he's funny, my father that is. This sucks balls. It's taken me six minutes to write _one_ which means at this rate, I'm looking at four thousand two-hundred minutes, which is seventy hours, which means there's zero way I'm going to get this done if I keep goofing off.

I shake out my poor, tired hand just as Hannah saddles down beside me and leans into me. "Mmh, you smell good, Sugar. New perfume?" Hannah's a beautiful girl, which only makes me more pissed off about the whole Mark thing. It's hard to say if he really meant any of what he was saying, or just trying to rile me, either way he's a douchebag, that really should go enlist protective services to hide him since there's a deranged angel out there looking for him.

"Nope, that's just the smell of love. Dean, I'm in love."

What? No. I was kinda vague on the details yesterday because I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but I've got to warn her. I can't let her fall in love with the asshat. "In love? Mark's a big fat douche Hannah. You see this?" I say pointing to my mug. "This was defending your honor from him and his big mouth talking smack about you."

"Calm down Romeo. I've slept with most of the football team—you do that and someone's bound to 'talk smack,' I accept that and I think they can go fuck themselves. Do your face a favor next time and don't worry about it, I don't."

"Still Hannah, Mark? You can do better than that."

"You think I'm in love with Mark? I mean, decent sized cock, sort of knows what he's doing and—"

"Jesus fucking, Christ Han. Too much information," I hiss at her. The librarian's already giving us the stink eye though I don't know why, there's no one in here except Hannah and I. Everyone in their right mind is outside on a day like today.

She laughs. "Well I'm not in love with Mark," she states proudly, her eyes dancing. Oh, my god. Whoever she is in love with, she has it bad for. I've never seen Hannah fall in love.

"Who is it, Han?"

"Dr. Miller."

"What?" I shout whisper at her. "Doctor Miller? That guy's like, my parent's age."

"He looks like middle aged Harrison Ford and he's only forty-two, actually. They had their son young."

"Their son is Derek," I remind her, since she's talking about him so distantly.

"Oh calm down. I knew you were going to freak out about this, it's why I've waited to tell you, instead of spilling all the beans when we talked Sunday. We're not seeing each other exclusively at the moment anyway."

"Wait. You're actually seeing this guy?" That was me freaking out when I thought it was just some fanciful school girl infatuation, but they're actually seeing each other? I know what 'seeing' each other means in Hannah language. "You've slept with him?"

"Oh yeah and he knows what to do with his—"

"Hannah, please."

She laughs again. "You're so sensitive this morning."

"Sensitive? Hannah, he's twenty-five years older than you."

"Michael's older than you."

True, but she doesn't know just _how_ much older. "Yeah, by like eight years."

"You're still the minor he's fucking. What's the difference?"

Okay, so I don't have much in defense of that. I mean I still think eight years is different than twenty-five, but I decide to go with a stronger point. "He's married."

"I already told you, we're not exclusive, yet."

"Yeah, because he's dating his wife."

"Jones and Alexia have an understanding. They're mostly just together for the kid right now."

"Derek."

"Whatever. Anyway, he's in love with me too."

"I'm sure he is."

"I thought you'd be happy for me Dean. I've listened to your Michael woes all year."

I sigh. "I am happy for you Hannah; I'm just worried. The situation doesn't sound so good, you can understand that, can't you?"

"You're the sweetest for worrying about me, but I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

Great. Now I think I should meet this guy. More than anything, so I can threaten to cut off his balls, Winchester style if he ever breaks Hannah's heart. "Okay, okay baby girl," I say running a hand through her hair. "Just please keep me in the know with this guy. You might trust him, but I don't—you mean the world to me, Han." I lean in an kiss her lips when the librarian's not looking.

"I know. I will Dean, you're sweet and I love you too."

"Guess it's better you like this doctor dude than Mark; he's not going to live long when Michael gets hold of him." I say when, because Michael probably will find out who he is, with or without my help.

"He's that mad, huh?"

"Like you wouldn’t believe."

"I wish I could help you out. I'm doing what I can though on the other end of things. Jones and I are investigating the case I told you about Sunday, further," she says in code not wanting to talk about it out loud.

"So I take it he knows you're not a reporter for the school paper?"

The way she smiles, I know she's thinking about him; that part's kind of nice, oh god this is going to be bad isn't it? "He knows. I just…I didn't know how to break it to you. I wasn't even going to tell you now, but it all came tumbling out. I've both been dying to tell you and dreading telling you, you know?"

"Yeah, I can understand that. All right, I owe you huge. Tell me what _Jones_ can do with his cock."

Hannah spends lunch hour with me and I get nothing done; then I actually have a class, an exam more specifically. By the time I'm back in the library I'm a little stressed, I've still got a lot of lines to write. I should have finished sixty by now, according to my time budget, but I've only managed thirty—I'm super behind. Fuck. Thank god Papa's leaving. Right now I'm seeing Dean 'Chester with a flashlight, under the covers, writing through the night.

My day gets worse when Brad finally stops by again. He came by after first period, but then I hadn't heard from him, which I thought was weird, I was kind of hoping I'd get a visit. Something's off about him though—he doesn't look as sunny as usual. "Getting much done?"

"Not really. I'm trying but I'm so popular these days, people keep stopping by."

"Yeah, like Hannah. Dean, is there something going on between you two I should know about?"

"With Hannah?"

"Yeah. You said you couldn’t hang out and I didn't want to distract you, so I sent one of the guys to bring you extra food—I was worried you wouldn't have enough to eat babe—then I hear you spent the hour with Hannah and rumor has it, you were 'cozy.' Is it true Dean?"

Fuck. Now Brad is hurt too. "We probably were," I admit. "But that's just how we are. I swear. She's in love with some dirty old dude. Hannah and I fucked once, and figured out then we were destined for friendship. She stopped by, that's it. I didn't invite her."

"But you didn't send her away either."

"I'm notoriously bad with managing my time. I'm as easy to distract as a toddler."

He sighs heavily knowing that's true. "How many people have you fucked, exactly Dean?"

"Everyone. I'm a proud whore."

"Not everyone," he says bitterly.

I feel like saying, 'not from lack of trying,' or 'we can change that Sugar,' but I want to be respectful, especially since he's hurt. He doesn't like when I prod him for sex. We're quiet, neither really sure what to say. I figure it's a really good time to turn on the Dean charm. "You really sent me food, babe? That was sweet," I say, tugging him closer by the hand. I didn't think I'd like the guy so much, but he's really grown on me. Makes me wonder if I can't convince Michael we should have a ménage a trios? Or, maybe Michael and Brad can work out a life long joint custody agreement?

"It's not fair you giving me those eyes—dammit Dean, I'm supposed to be mad at you."

"Well for the record, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of that to be how it looked, 'cause it wasn't anything, I swear. If it makes you feel any better, I haven't fucked anyone, except Michael, since we've been together, and even that well's been a little dry these days," I realize as I say it.

"Really?" he says. "Just Michael?"

"Yes. I mean, I know we've never talked about being semi-exclusive, but I just got the feeling you wouldn't like me with others."

"No, I wouldn't," he says possessively and I like it. "I hate when the other guy has his hands on you and the thought of anyone else touching you makes me sick." He kisses me. "I still wish he'd let you wear my letter jacket, even if it's just when you're with me."

"Gotta have some kind of mark on me, huh?"

"You bet. Everyone wants you Dean, I want them to know you're mine."

"Tell you what? I'm a toddler who can't organize his time, how about you take advantage of that and we go celebrate our semi-exclusivity with BJ's in the bush?"

He pulls me to him and kisses me again. "Nice try, Winchester. You're staying here to finish the lines your father gave you. Jesus, Dean. I want to be able to spend time with you this summer."

"Fuck, fine. I should get back to it. How about you make sure no one else comes in here to distract me?"

"Oh, I am. I may not be able to spank you, but if anyone else comes in here and you don't kick them out pronto, I'm calling your father."

Does everyone suddenly have him on speed dial? "You wouldn't?"

"Try me."

He's serious. Holy shit. "Uh, getting to work, sir," I wink.

"I'll go get you some more food."

Thank Christ. All I've got left is this one Deanmarine from Daddy, and since I knew I wasn't going to be able to spare time to get extra from the cafeteria, I'd been rationing it and I'm starved. I pull it out and play my-don't-let-the-librarian-catch-me-eating game and get a shit load of lines done.

~DM~

"So what am I supposed to do about our dear son, Samuel?"

I jump a bit, because I don't expect the question. "Sorry, I was still thinking about your cock in my ass." I haven't been able to stop daydreaming about sex with my husband since, well, since…"Okay, I'm back Cassy."

"I dunno Sam. You're still a little spacey."

"I'd tell you if I was still any bit away, you know that." It's why he stayed home again today, which is good, but I really am fine. Cas and I have long discovered what can happen when I drop, sometimes it just takes a day or so to really come back to Earth after such an intense session. "I am glad you're here though, just in case."

"Of course, Baby."

"But what about our son? That would actually be good to talk about." Talking about Dean is always a good way to bring me back.

"I really want to lengthen his curfew, but I don't think he's ready for such responsibility. He was really doing well, but…I don't buy any of what he said about 'forgetting' to tell us about the finished classes. He lied Sam."

Yes, I think so too, and that irks me. I nod. "He hasn't been honest."

"I've…I've been hard on him lately and it's just not working, I feel like I'm failing him, Sam."

I smile at my perfectionist husband. "I disagree. I think Dean needs the structure and that it takes time; I also think he is doing well with what you provide for him and Michael too. You're doing fine, Cas, I think you're being hard on yourself, as usual. Dean is a teenager approaching manhood—this is what they're like. In a few years, he'll feel bad for all the mischief he got up to now."

"I'm still disappointed in him Sam. I thought we'd really built a foundation of trust with him."

"We have, Cas, but teenagers are always seeing what they can get away with."

"It's still not right."

"Agreed, which is why I think we should take a different approach this time," I suggest. "He needs to know we didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday."

"I'm all ears, Baby."

"Okay. Here's what we do."

~DM~

When I get home, I go immediately to Papa's office. It's never a good idea to keep him waiting. "Hey, Papa. I'm home," I say when he tells me to come in.

"Hello, son. Please have a seat."

He doesn't look too serious, but he doesn't look…not serious. I can't figure him out right now. I sit down in the cold leather chair, which creaks and loosen the tie of my school uniform. He sits where he always does for these conversations, on the edge of his desk, with his arms folded over his chest.

"Dean, your Daddy and I want the very best for you, you know that, yes?"

"Yes, Papa," I smile. "I know how much you both worry about me. If Daddy hadn't already raised a thousand Colts, I'd think you both have only child syndrome."

"You're the one who didn't want a brother or sister," he points out.

"And still don't. Worry away."

He sighs heavily. "You should know that I don't want to give you back your midnight curfew."

My stomach sinks, but I'm not surprised. I don't even think I tried to earn it back. My mind has been completely on my love life. _Congratulations Dean Winchester, you're a teenage girl._

"I think you have learned you do better with more structure and not less, as we've already discussed?"

I think of Brad making me stay in the library today. I would of fucked off; instead, I caught up to my quota. "You're right, Father. I do better with structure," I sigh. "I think I have learned that over the past weeks."

"You have and I'm very proud of you for that. You've also done some other things I'm proud of you for; you followed curfew every night, came to us for help more than once when life got tough, and only managed one out burst during the whole bean fiasco, which I told you, I consider our fault, so I'm excusing you that in my evaluation. You were also a huge help during the fundraiser and likely didn't get enough praise for that."

Wow, I sound awesome, but I know he's compliment sandwiching. I'm waiting for the hammer to fall.

"We had a talk about you and Michael and, as far as I can see, you two are working things out?"

"Yes, sir. Well, he's still pissed I won't tell him about who hit me in the face, but other than that, it's good. I've found a good balance with Michael and Brad, I think. I like what I've got, currently."

"Okay, but I still want the communication flowing on that one, Dean. I'm not completely satisfied."

I think we all know Papa's not the 'just so long as you're happy' type of parent. Yes, he wants me to be happy, but if he thinks I'm fucking up my life, he will step in and interfere. It's just how the Winchester Way works; hell, it's just plain how Winchesters work.

"Yes, sir. I will. Promise."

"Michael has also been very good about that," he says irritated.

"You were hoping he wouldn't be?"

"Well, no. Not exactly."

"Is this one of those things I'll have to understand when I'm a parent?"

"I think so," he says and I decide to leave it. "Now we have to get serious, Dean."

Fuck. Here's the hammer.

"I know you were going to try to get out of Texas."

Daddy's a rat. "Yes, sir. But I didn't!" I quickly add.

"Which is the only thing saving your hide my belt right now. I will be very displeased if I ever hear that you're even thinking of not wanting to go to Texas again. It's four weeks of your life, for people who love you and don't get to see you, often. I think your grandfather Winchester would be the most disappointed—he plans all year what he's going to do with you when you get there. You'd break his heart Dean. I'd like to believe you're not really that selfish."

Daddy already said something to that effect, but I feel like even more of a heel now. "You're right, Father. I wasn't thinking of anyone, but Dean," I say and try to look at him, but I want to look at the floor.

"Thank-you for recognizing that. It's also a Winchester mandate if you'll kindly remember. We are all to give up those four weeks, but more specifically the two with the Winchesters, for family time. It will extend to you and your family, if you should decide to start one. While the two weeks with Daddy's family are not mandated, I still expect you to make them important. Sometimes work might get in the way, but you should still do what you can to make this trip a priority."

Yeah, I know all of that and I like seeing everyone. I just wanted one year off. It's probably better I don't say that though, I don't have a very good reason.

"I think I've made myself clear on that matter, once and for all, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"The only other thing I have issue with is you lying about your classes being done, don't even deny it Dean. You didn't forget."

"I didn't forget," I admit. "But I thought that's what the lines were for."

"The lines were for not telling us. You have not been punished for lying, which is a house rule."

Aw, fuck. I guess I can say goodbye to a summer of late nights. I wonder how that will work in Texas? Not to mention, house rules are non-negotiable. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, just proceed to get your spanking, sur.

"Next time when you come clean, don't half come clean. If you had been honest about not telling us about the finished classes last night, I would leave it at the lines. You tried to pass it off as if you forgot, which was a lie."

There's no way I can lie (again) when I'm caught out right like now, I do respect my parents enough not to take them as fools, but as Michael said, I'm prone to some teenage rebellion. I give a sheepish look. "You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied," I say with a down turn in my voice. "I won't do it again."

"I wish I could believe you Dean."

Fuck. Now I've hurt Papa and that hurts me. "I…I really am, sir. I'll prove it to you," I say trying not to cry.

"No, that's not what I meant Dean. I believe you are sorry, but your daddy pointed out that teenagers are prone to this type of behavior, chances are you probably will lie again then feel bad about it, but you'll do it again."

"Oh." Daddy's probably right.

"That doesn't mean I'm ever going to condone it. Expect to be punished every time I find out."

"Yes, sir." This time I do look at my feet, 'cause he's right, I do feel bad.

I feel his eyes on me, staring at me a long time before he says anything else. "Do you remember the reason I cut back your curfew in the first place?"

"Immaturity. I manipulated the Winchester Way to get what I wanted, thereby manipulating several people in the process." I hate saying it, but that's what I did.

"A later curfew is more responsibility, which means a greater level of maturity is required to handle such responsibility. I consider lies of such nature, immature Dean. There is indeed a time for lying. To save someone's life, or perhaps save someone's feelings. This lie was just immaturity, you wanted what you wanted, to have fun, instead of facing any possible responsibility I might have given you. On that note, when I give you more responsibility, even if it takes up your social time, you should consider that a compliment, not a burden.

"Considering everything, I would not feel it prudent to give you more responsibility at this juncture, but after discussing it with your daddy and because I am very appreciative of your efforts, we are giving you back your midnight curfew."

"You are?" I'm fucking stunned. "But, but…I don't deserve it Papa."

I hate to say this, because I love my daddy, but getting my curfew back because Daddy talked Papa into it feels like getting a gold ticket on American Idol from Paula and Randy, but not Simon. I don't feel like I've earned it. I'd rather have Papa proud to give me back my later curfew. It's first prize, but doesn't feel like first prize.

"Never-the-less, it's not your decision to make. So congratulations Mr. Winchester, you have a summer before you of nights a plenty. But," he says.

But?

"Consider this probation. I want you to prove you're worthy of such responsibility, understood?"

"Yes, sir. I will. I swear." Why do I feel a bit tricked?

"It can be revoked at anytime and this conversation will be revisited at the end of the summer, unless of course you give me reason to discuss it sooner?"

"No sir. I won't."

"Good. Then we are done here."

We are? "But, when does that happen to come into effect?" Aha. Maybe that was the trick. I might have just walked out of here and 'decided' to assume my later curfew begins today, but he would have expected that and I would have been in trouble; cutting out on a punishment is a big no and a house rule.

"I said until Texas and I meant until Texas Dean."

Rats. "Just hoping, sir."

"Okay, dismissed. Do you have plans tonight? I'm hoping we can visit over dinner, I won't see you for almost a week and a half now that I'm leaving earlier."

"Uncle Dal's coming by, we were supposed to hang out, but I'm sure that means he's coming for dinner, but no other plans Papa." Seeing as Michael doesn't want me leaving the house, I don't add.

"It's a date then."

Something's still not right. Aha! Got it. I even snap my fingers and point at Papa. "I broke a house rule. Aren't I supposed to be getting spanked for that?"

"Yes, you will be, but I'm not spanking you this time."

"Then who…oh no. No, Papa please. Not Daddy."

"He's particularly irritated with you about lying and asked if he could be the one."

"But he's the one who said, boys will be boy, uh, basically."

"He still didn't like it. I'm sure he'll explain why."

"But you give manly spankings, Daddy's make me feel like I'm still six-years-old. Please Papa—I know you've been just itching to use that strap of yours."

"If you don't want to be spanked like a six-year-old, I have some advice for you: Don't lie."

In other words, he doesn't feel sorry for me. This sucks.

He smiles. "See you later, son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of the commenters say: "Is been too long without spankings Mock." And I agree. But see? Guaranteed one next chapter.


	20. Trouble, thy name is Dean Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Daddy Spankings! 
> 
> Dear Chally fans. Something is going to happen in this chapter that may, um, upset you BUT trust Mock. All will be good, I swear. #mockpromises 
> 
> I won't leave this couple in turmoil for too long and on the bright side, you get to see their big getting together now instead of having to live thru the 25 years of agony they did. 
> 
> On that note, I never expected #Chally to be so popular. I really didn't and ended up seriously regretting this story line. If I'd of known, I would have done things much different, but uh...it's a bit late for that. I want you to have fun with it though. My goal is for all the Texas stuff (with everyone) to be humorous. So just sit back and enjoy...Chally forever, okay?
> 
> On a separate note, I've been holding back in this story b/c I've been worried about rxns. But Mock's skin gets tougher as she goes. Don't like? Don't read. Simply press the 'X' button. I owe it to the absolutely fabulous supporters of this story to give them the full enjoyment of these characters...and I owe it to the characters too. So no more holding back. Careful all ye who enter beyond this point...

You're going to think I'm a giant child, but I'm hiding from Daddy. I know this will probably count against me in Father's 'evaluation' and I don't give a flying fuck. I should do the mature thing and find him and ask for the spanking that's owed, but just like when I knew I'd be getting a spanking from him when I was little, I'm hiding.

And I still have lines to work on and Michael's going to be on my ass some point with texts when he's done with whatever his father wanted and Uncle Dal will be here soon…fuck. Daddy _will_ spank me in front of Uncle Dal. All signs point to _get this fucking over with Winchester_ , but I'm procrastinating like a coward.

It doesn't even hurt as much when Daddy does it. No matter what he uses, he's way less harsh than Papa, but the combination of his lecture and the _way_ he does things…I feel six and I feel like a heel. I'm not looking forward to it.

Daddy's so good at it, he's a legend. No Colt is safe from his chastisement, because all of his brothers and sisters look up to him; even Jared and Jensen. When I was younger and up to no good with my cousins, no one had any quarrel letting Daddy deal with all of us. My aunts and uncles still tell stories about something they got in trouble with Daddy over—it's something you don't forget.

I'm buried in one of the libraries we have in our giant house, somewhere I never fucking go, and I'm actually at a table getting a few lines done. That way, if Daddy does find me I can claim to be getting Papa's lines done, which I am. Fuck. I sure know how to find trouble; if only I could stay out of it.

I'm not in the library long when I get a text message from Daddy. God damn it, why did Papa have to make him into such an apple freak? Once upon a time, Daddy would never dream of getting rid of our house phone, now I can't remember the last time he's used it. Papa said he's been trying to get Daddy onto cell phones since they were sixteen—once Daddy discovered apps, he finally fell in love. Papa still complains Daddy doesn't use it as much as he'd like him to, but Daddy uses it with me, just fine. The text says:

_DEAN. Get your Winchester butt to the kitchen. NOW._

Daddy also learned how to use capitols for effect in text messaging. If I don't get there quick, it will increase his ire. I'd better fucking go. I've already changed out of my school clothes and have on white t-shirt and pair of pajama pants, since I'm in for the night anyway.

I skulk my way to the kitchen where Daddy looks to be putting something together. Probably for dinner, since it's Papa's last dinner with us for a while. He always goes out of his way for Papa, especially when he's going away. I watch his large form for a few minutes before I make my presence known. You wouldn't think so, but Daddy has a sure way about him—he's got a strong body, even in his fifties that moves with certainty and conviction. All the while, his intent is gentle and loving. I notice now that his hair's gotten really long. Has Papa noticed? Normally, it's at the nape of his neck, but now, it's past his chin—Papa usually gets him to cut it before it reaches a particular point.

I remember how hard it was to get Papa to let me grow hockey hair for a year.

He's popping a casserole dish in the oven, with Papa's favorite baked ham layered inside and he's singing the theme song to The Greatest American Hero. Oh god, I can't do this. I can't wipe that smile off his face. I think I'm going to be sick. I'll text Michael. If I say the right shit, he'll have me out of here and we can live on another planet, or something. Maybe even an alternate universe, whatever, just so long as I don't have to face Daddy.

I'm turning around, ready to flee the country, but Daddy does to. "Oh no you don't Dean Daniel Jonathan Winchester, sit. Right there."

Shit. We've been over this; four names is Texan for fucked. I fucking sit. I have to wait while Daddy finishes putting his other dishes in the oven, my anxiety builds. I didn't feel any of this in Papa's office, well, not exactly. I do get that nervous feeling in my belly, but I know Papa works hard to make sure not to be too harsh, because he really can be.

Daddy's exactly the opposite. He's never harsh, but when you've pissed him off enough, it's like releasing Hell Hounds. He doesn't need to worry about being too harsh, because he's given you all the compassion, all the opportunity in the world to 'do the right thing,' once you've reached this point with him, all bets are off; you deserve what you get.

Daddy throws a dish towel over his shoulder and turns angry Colt eyes on me. He opens the drawer, the drawer that holds the dreaded wooden spoon, takes it out and places it on the ledge above the kitchen island, so I can see it. "You see that, young man? That is getting used on your bare bottom, but before I do, I'm going to make sure you know why."

I'm already blushing and I can tell I'm in for a long one. I hope to Christ Uncle Dal doesn't show up in the middle, but I don't think I'm that lucky. I should have come to see Daddy right after I left Papa's office.

"I-I know why Daddy."

"Oh no you don't. But I'm going to let you look at that and think about why it might not be a good idea to lie to your parents, while I finish up here, then we'll discuss it while you're over my knee."

"Yes, sir." God damn. Just the way he says 'over my knee' like that has my cheeks even redder than the beginning of this awful conversation. There's something about knowing you're going over someone's knee for a spanking that makes your tummy squirm, least mine does. And I know Daddy's going to want some kind of answer. Of course I can't stop looking at the thing that's going to light my ass afire. Fuck.

Daddy does a few more things, what I don't know, I've stopped looking at him and I'm focused on that fucking spoon. I've got so focused on it, I startle when he's suddenly in front of me. "Up."

I'm up and he sits where I was, the spoon is still on the counter top where he put it.

Papa lets you remove your own pants, even lets you take your pants all the way off so they're not kicking around at your ankles when the spanking gets to its intense moments. Not Daddy. He does it all for you. Something about that is less adult, less manly; makes me feel like a little kid; but Daddy believes in that old adage that if I'm going to act like a little kid, I can be spanked like one as well.

He's gentle and matter of fact when he pulls me around to his side by my wrist; he may be upset with me, but he's not angry. It would be easier for me if he were

His fingers reach under the waistband of my pajama pants and boxers at the same time and I'm briskly bared, both pulled straight down to my ankles then over his knees I go, tipped just so I'm slightly off balance. At least that part is better then I was younger and neither my hands or feet could touch the ground, though I tell you there's nothing fun about being bare bottomed, ass up over Daddy's knee, staring at the kitchen tiles, knowing you've got a punishment coming. It really fills one with a sense of humility and that's part of it. According to both my parents, spanking should bring one some sense of shame for the actions that brought you here in the first place—after all a little shame never hurt anyone.

"Daddy, I'm sorry. Really."

"So am I, Dean." Ouch.

He starts in with his large hand, which can cover much more ground than Papa's smaller hand. Papa has to spank each cheek separately, so at least there's always one getting a break, but Daddy's hand can cover enough of each ass cheek simultaneously.

The slaps are loud in the quiet room, they hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes, while I try to take my punishment like an adult when really, I just want to reach back with my hand to cover my ass and bawl like a baby. I can tell how displeased Daddy is with me and I hate it. I hate disappointing each parent for different reasons. With Daddy, he's my best friend; I feel like I've let him down; tarnished the friendship in some way. I'm proud of our relationship and that he seeks to treat me like an adult; it kills me that right now the just sees me as a naughty little boy. Twenty-five all in a row has me wanting to reach back to stop him, a natural reaction, but thankfully he gives me a little break. He doesn't rub the sting out.

"Am I getting through to you, Sur?"

"Yes, Daddy. You are. I'm sorry I lied," I say, balancing on one hand and reaching up with the other to wipe my eyes.

"Not only is this the consequence for breaking a house rule, Dean, but you've hurt us both. Your Papa went easy on you when you went behind our backs about the hunting with your uncles. He should have tanned your hide good for that, but he wants to trust you Dean—that you'll do the right thing if given the opportunity. Is he wrong?"

That's punctuated with five very sharp spanks. "No, Sir. I swear. I'll behave."

"We both feel you've been doing as you see fit an awful lot lately and if you think we won't agree with you, you do it your way and hope you don't get caught, because you know better."

That's how he sees it? "No Daddy. I don't know better; I don't think that. I just wanted to goof off," I admit. "Things have been hectic. I didn't want to be stuck in the library with one of Papa's writing assignments."

That gets me another ten from his hand, jeez that smarts. "That wasn't your decision to make. We are a family and we make decisions by talking about them together and trusting Papa to decide what's best. Or have you stopped trusting your father? Because if you have, that's something we need to discuss further."

I know this spanking is not for 'not trusting Papa,' because if I didn't, that would be something I could voice my opinion about, I am very heard in my family, I know that. Papa does his best to make sure I feel validated. If I told Daddy no, right now, I wouldn't be in trouble for that, but saying no, would be a lie. I trust Papa with my life, I really do. "I haven't Daddy. I trust Papa. I promise."

"That's what I thought. You know if you explained to Papa you needed a break he would have factored that heavily into his decision. He only makes decisions that benefit you. If he decided you needed something to do, it would have been for good reason. You're simply shirking responsibility. That's immature and I won't have it. I won't allow you to get away with behavior like this. You're much more level headed than you've been acting lately."

I get another round of spanks from his hand, so I can digest that. "Furthermore, you've not considered who you would hurt when you decided to lie. Papa thinks he's not doing a good job, being your papa; he won't tell you, but he's heartbroken Dean."

Daddy's as protective of Papa as Papa is of Daddy and I'm glad. I don't want Papa to feel like that.

"I think we've earned the same courtesy we've given you. We've given you no reason not to trust our judgment and even though you've given us plenty of reason not to trust yours, we still give you opportunity to show us that you've grown up—and then you lie. To what? Goof off? Does it seem worth it?" I get more spanks for that.

"N-no, Da-Daddy…" Man I feel like a dick.

"No," he says softly, giving my ass a rest. "It's not. We are a family unit Dean. We expect you to be a functioning part of that unit. When you do stuff like this, it makes us feel like our family doesn't mean anything to you, that you don't have respect for it, or us."

I feel like an even huger dick. I don't want my parents to think that, that I don't respect them, 'cause I do, so much. And our family, I love being a member of this family, even with…or maybe especially with all the rules and quirks. I wouldn't trade it for anything. "B-but I thought boys will be boys, Daddy?"

"They will be and I already forgive you Dean, I always will baby boy, but I need you to think of the consequences of your actions. When you belong somewhere, to a family, to a partner, to a place of work, wherever, there are always going to be rules you must obey, rules that are there for a reason, if you break them, you hurt people. It's not fair."

Daddy stands me up, and I can't help reaching back to rub out the sting—his hand fucking hurts. He starts helping me the rest of the way out of my pants as he lectures some more.

"There is a time for lying. When you want to protect someone you love," he says pausing. "It should be important, and worth any price—not because you want to goof off at school."

He wipes the tears streaming down my face. "I-I'm s-sorry Daddy. I really didn't think it would effect anyone but me."

"I hope I've helped you see things a little clearer. Let's finish up, before your uncle Dal gets here. Fetch me the spoon please."

"Can't we skip that? I've learned my lesson. I'm never lying again."

"Oh no Dean 'Chester, you will lie again. I'm certain of it, but I'm going to make sure you find it a painful experience. That way, you'll make sure the lie is worth it. Seriously Dean. Of all the immature, nonsense."

I hope to Christ they never find my fake ID. I'm burying that fucking thing.

I walk over with my already smarting ass to grab the evil thing, somewhat heartened by the fact he's trying to get this over with before Uncle Dal gets here. I'd very much like that. I snatch it up, make myself walk back to him and hand it over. He tips me straight back over his knee.

"You should feel lucky it's just the wooden spoon, Sur. I contemplated my hairbrush, I was so ticked and next time you think to make such a decision about your school schedule without permission, it will be. We make those decisions for you, not you young man," he summarizes.

"Y-yes, sir."

And just so he's clear enough, he starts in on my ass with that bastard spoon. I lose all ability to keep cool, he doesn't give me any breaks and it's all rapid fire and many in the same spot. My feet start kicking and he has to catch my hand since I'm trying to use it to protect my poor ass. "Feet down, Dean."

"I-I'm trying. F-freaking hurts."

"It's supposed to."

I keep my foot down for as long as I can, but can't help kicking it up for just a second when it gets to much and repeat. It takes Daddy forever, but eventually Daddy decides I've had enough.

"Okay," Daddy finally says. "We're done here."

I have to sink down to the floor and put my head into his lap so I can cry there some more. That was physically and emotionally exhausting. Daddy's spankings always are. He runs a hand through my hair and I hear him put the spoon down. I sit like that for a few minutes, until the sting on my skin cools. The funny thing, as intense as that was, the sting will be gone in about an hour, or so…this one maybe a bit longer, it's the chord singing through my body that will resonate long after the physical effects of the spanking's gone.

Daddy uses his thumb and pointer finger to tilt my chin upward. "Papa and I care about you so much. You got that?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"C'mon up here and put your pants back on. We have one more thing to discuss."

We do?

In no position to argue, and nor would I want to if I was, I do as asked and slip into my boxers and pajama pants somewhat gingerly. Daddy gets up to make tea, but invites me to sit at the table. I'm circumspect over what that's going to be like after that spanking, but it's not so bad, at the same time, it's not entirely comfortable—just enough to keep me in the right headspace for not getting myself into further trouble.

It takes him a few minutes, but then he hands me a mug, I notice the spoon is still on the table. "Uh, could we put that away, Daddy?"

"I think it's better left out as a reminder, just in case you should think to fudge the answer to my next question."

"Did I do something else, Daddy?"

"I know you didn't tell the whole truth about the gym incident Dean. You didn't lie exactly, but you know Papa and I consider lying by omission, lying. I'm not going to spank you again, unless I decide you're not being forthright, so tell the truth and you can save your little butt another round with my spoon."

Sounds good to me. "How the heck could you know?" I fucking suspected he was onto me. "I wasn't biting my lip."

"You think I'm going to give away all my secrets? Think again, baby boy."

I sigh. "Something did happen that I wasn't telling you, but I was going to, I kind of wanted to surprise attack you though. You ruin all my fun Daddy."

He smiles and rubs my head. "Sorry Dean Bean."

I tell him what happened when I totally kicked Mark's ass, how it was like Old Dean was there helping me out. "Papa said you were going to teach me some stuff. I was hoping our brawl would activate old Dean and I would surprise you and kick your butt. I'm pretty awesome Daddy."

He rolls his eyes at me. "It wasn't going to be a brawl Dean. I was going to teach you some simple techniques."

"Looks like I might be teaching you."

"Okay, wise guy. You're on. When we get to Texas, we'll start practicing, you can 'kick my butt with your awesome skills.' I'd like to see old Dean in action. "

"The air quotes are not appreciated, Sur," I say. Daddy laughs at me.

"What's so funny in here, cowboys?"

"Uncle Dal!" I get up and run over to him. He hugs me.

"Half-pint, what the heck did you do to make your daddy get out that?" he says releasing me.

Oh yeah, the spoon is still there. "He used it too," I say proudly. If you live through one of Daddy's spankings, you get bragging rights with everyone. "I lied so I could goof off at school."

"Dean Daniel, Jonathan," Uncle Dal says unimpressed with me. I scratch the back of my neck and look anywhere, but him, a little afraid he'll pick the spoon up and continue. Uncle Dal's no slouch in the spanking department.

"I won't do it again," I defend.

"I hope not," he shakes his head smiling. "You're trouble these days."

"He is and we love him anyway," Daddy says.

"We sure do," Uncle Dal agrees. "School's important Dean and you go to a nice school, please behave yourself."

"I will Uncle Dal."

He laughs. "Guess you are a Colt through and through. But I'm sure you've been scolded enough, it's my turn to be in trouble—I might as well just announce it to y'all. I'm really happy about it, I hope you will be too…Axl and I are getting married."

Daddy and I both hold our breath and look at each other, I know I'm biting my lip and he's balling his fists. "That's…great, Uncle Dal!" I say hugging him again. "Congratulations!"

"Is there a ring? We wanna see. Cas will be so excited for y'all," Daddy says coming over to hug him.

"Oh, you two are full of it," Dally says hugging us anyway. "I know you wanted it to happen for Chris and I—believe me, I did too."

Daddy and I may have terrible poker faces, but so does Uncle Dal—we both _know_ this isn't what he really wants. He fucking loves Uncle Christian, more than anything. They've been on again, off again for years. Something must have happened to push Uncle Dal to this.

"So, Axl Swift?"

"Yeah," Uncle Dal begins as the three of us sit. "You guys know I've always been crazy about him too."

He has. It's pretty much been Chris and Axl for Uncle Dal with a few in between.

"You're not just settling for second place though, are you Dal?" Daddy asks.

"Well, 'course I am. If I got my pick, it'd be Chris, but I've been waiting on him for twenty-five years and it doesn't look like he's going to be settling down anytime soon. We still talk of course, all the time, like always and lately he's made it more clear just how much _we_ are never going to happen. He won't even ask for Mr. Winchester to let me into the family because he doesn't want his father to know he's not like Cas. He keeps saying he just has to work up his nerve and every year Texas comes around and he doesn't do it. I'm done with that. A guy's got to know when to move on—it just ain't happening. I want a family; I'm getting on."

"Have you…talked with Chris about this? Does he know you're about to be 'off again' for the last time?" Daddy asks.

"Not yet, I want to tell him in person. I'm sorry it has to be this way, cowboys, but no matter how hard I've tried, he won't accept who he is. It'll never work between us unless he does."

"I thought you said he had Uncle Dal?"

He nods. "I thought so for awhile. He accepts who he is, when it's just us; he lets me give him what he needs, but he won't…come out. It's because of how he thinks Clyde will judge him. It doesn't help that Clarabelle's the same as Cas. It makes him feel less of a Winchester, being the more deferential partner."

"It's not like Uncle Chris is all that passive anyway. Grampa'll see that; I know he will."

"Your grampa knows what Chris is like anyway half-pint. It's why he is the way he is with him. Chris is trying to prove him wrong. Hard as it is though, it's not my rodeo anymore. I'm happy with Axl. We reconnected while I was on my tour and since he's been retired from hockey going on four years now, he was able to travel with me. He's been at every one of my concerts, since Memphis."

It really is nice for Uncle Dal. It's hard to believe he's in his forties, the guy still looks like he's in his late-twenties—he's got those fantastic Colt genes. I guess he does have to move on, but I can't help but feel heavy about this whole thing. It's just wrong.

"Well I am happy for you Dally. I can understand all of that. I say we have us a little pre-dinner glass of wine. Dean, will you grab for glasses for me sweetheart?"

"Sure, Daddy."

"What's going on in here?" Papa says entering the kitchen.

"Dallas is getting married," Daddy tells him, jovially, least that's how he appears, something's off about Daddy though.

"He is? I don't recall giving my permission." Holy shit, Papa's serious.

"Uh, well, you see Castiel…that is, I didn't think, I mean I'm moved out."

Yeah. Winchester's don't work like that. Uncle Dal's never quite grasped some things Winchester even if he does understand us pretty well and can explain 'us' better than me with other things.

"Sam, pour the wine. We're going to move this conversation to my office momentarily, _then_ we'll celebrate. Come along Dallas."

I'm so glad I'm all out of trouble for the night. That look on Papa's face isn't good.

When they leave the room, I expect Daddy to do as Papa told him and pour the wine, but he doesn't. His whole demeanour changes and he looks angry; he pulls out his phone. I knew it. I knew something was off about him. "Daddy, what are you doing?"

"What's is look like? Interfering." He's dialling a number from his contacts list.

Interfering? "Are you…Daddy you can't call Uncle Chris."

"Watch me." He puts the phone to his ear.

He's going Colt. I have to stop him. No matter the cost to my tender backside, I dive for him and the phone. He sees me and tries to jump out of the way, but I catch his legs; we go tumbling to the ground; the phone gets thrown across the room. "Daddy, Papa's going to kill you."

"Some things are worth getting killed over. I like Axl fine, but I know my brother'd be happier with Chris, if Chris'd just screw his head on straight. I can help in that department."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm all for sticking my neck out for that plan, but we do need a plan Daddy. You can't just call him." I can't believe this is the man who was spanking me only moments ago for an act of irrationality—this is just what happens with Colts who think they know better.

"Hello? Hello?" Daddy and I both look at each other, Uncle Chris has answered Daddy's call. We both head across the kitchen on hands and knees trying to get to the phone first. I'm closer, so I win.

"Hello, Uncle Chris?"

"Dean? Why you calling me on your daddy's phone?"

"That's a good question," I say as Daddy's trying to take the phone away from me; I dodge all his attmepts. "And the answer's just as good and it has a lot to do with, Texas," I invent poorly.

"Is this some new teenage thing the kids do? I gotta say I don't get it Dean."

Sounds good. "You got me, Uncle Chris. Just some teenage thing."

"Actually, I'm glad y'all called. I wanted to talk to you about something, you got a minute?"

Daddy nods, having stopped trying to get the phone from me, wanting to hear too. "Yeah, sure Uncle Chris."

"I finally did it, I finally talked to Grampa about me and Dallas and everything. I'll tell you all about it, but for now I'll say, it was damn hard, but it was good. I want to marry your uncle Dal more than anything, so I finally worked up my nerve and asked permission; Grampa wants to talk with him, but I think it's a yes. I've even got a ring and everything, I'm so sure. Been planning this all year."

I'm stone quiet, because this is a fucking disaster. "Dean? Dean? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here Uncle Chris."

"I thought you'd be more excited."

"I am excited. Just surprised is all."

"Good. That means he'll likely be surprised too. I've been chatting with him by phone while he was on tour, I really laid it on thick, made him think I'm not likely to ever take a husband—he's not going to suspect a thing."

"Nope, he sure won't suspect a thing," I say. And by the sounds of it, Uncle Chris doesn't know about Axl.

"What's with the attitude? Is this another teenager thing I don't get?"

"More than likely, sir. Uh, so when you asking him?"

"Pretty quick after y'all land at Winchester plaza and Father talks to him—I don't want to make him wait another second. I don't deserve him waiting on me this long, to get my head out of my ass I mean, but I'll make it up to him from now until forever. I know he wants a child, I do too, already been looking into it. I don't feel like we have to wait 'till that long after the wedding, it feels like we've been together twenty-five years."

Fuck. This isn't a disaster, it's a catastrophe. "Okay, Uncle Chris. I, uh…I should go."

"Yeah. You be good now." He always says that now. Uncle Chris didn't used to know a lot about kids, but he learned over the years and well, he is a Winchester—he's still the coolest of the bunch.

"Of course Uncle Chris."

When I hang up, I start panicking. "Daddy what are we going to do?"

"I don't know Dean."

"I thought we were interfering? Let's interfere." Screw getting in trouble, Daddy's right, I don't mind getting in trouble over this.

"We have to do something. If Christian asks him and finds out Dal's already engaged, he'll be too embarrassed to ever speak to Dal again. You know what Winchester pride is like."

"Yes, I most certainly do. What are we talking about?" says a voice I know well.

"Michael?" I'm ridiculously happy to see him. I am mostly happy he's not dead from whatever dangerous thing his father got him to do, but I also missed him already. I run and hug him as he comes in the sliding glass kitchen door.

"I didn't think you'd be so happy to see me," he says putting his arms around me and kissing my crown. "What are you two plotting?"

I fill him in on the fucking situation with Chris and Dal. "Are you going to run and tell Papa on us?" He deserves that one for being such a goody-good lately.

He shakes his head. "I could care less what you do about your uncles's love life. It doesn't put you in mortal danger, except maybe your bottom when Papa Winchester finds out, which I highly support. It's good for you to be brought to heel every now and again since you never listen to me."

At least he's his sarcastic self again, it must mean he's making marginal head way in getting over my black-eye.

"Other than that, I have no objections."

"Does that mean you'll help us?" I say, looking up at him.

"I wouldn't go that far, Duck. You two are on your own with this one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, my own hubby did this before he asked me to marry him. He led me to believe that he was not 'likely to take a wife,' for almost a whole year. I gave up on the dude. Hahah! I was very close to leaving his ass. Then he busts out with this amazing engagement ring he'd spent the year picking out!! And well...diamonds are a girl's best friend? I didn't think I was like that, into jewels, but wow, you should seriously see my rock. It still gets admirers, most especially from other men (I still think it was my hubby's way of peeing on me) I dare you to resist! LOL
> 
> I was mad at him for 2 years over it though. I said yes, but would barely wear the ring (I left it in my jewellery box and would look at it everyday to enjoy). He's lucky I didn't just leave with the ring. 
> 
> Dallas will be far more forgiving than I was. For the record, I have completely forgiven my husband by this point and have come to a place where I think it's fucking hilarious.


	21. Papa Says

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Cas got really chatty on me. Like so chatty, so I hope you enjoy hearing from him! 
> 
> I REALLY ended up enjoying this chapter even though it so didn't go how I thought it would and I'm excited to finally post it. I thought I was writing 'Dean on a Plane,' but nope! Haha! 
> 
> No spanking, but TALK/THREATS of spanking. That's always fun, I think.

I was thirteen years old when Dallas was born. The Colt's have this open door birthing policy, which was hard to get used to, or well, no…nothing follows that because you have no choice except: Get used to it. You don't have to be _in_ the room, but sometimes you end up there. Dallas was the sixth Colt I'd been around to see be born and while I was in the house for some of the others (except Caroline, Sam and I got into a huge fight that night) Dallas was the first (and only) Colt I actually saw come out of Adelaide Colt.

He was a squalling, red mess of goo, it's still by far the grossest thing I've ever seen and I stayed out of the room forever after that, but the event still managed to make Dallas extra special to me. He's extra special to Sam too, for other reasons (he doesn't mind being in rooms women are having babies in, so he's attended too many births for that to be significant) they've always had a close bond. When he was three, he clung onto Sam, like Dean used to, and came most places with us. It annoyed me, only because I was sixteen and my dick ruled my brain; I would have sold my soul to get three minutes alone with Sam, so we could try said dicks we'd recently discovered were great for fucking. But I didn't actually mind Dallas. He was and still is the quietest, most reserved Colt (unless he's singing), he's wise beyond measure, kind hearted, charitable, he's really top notch.

Long before Dallas moved in with us, I considered him one of my own, but him moving here and having him under my roof solidified that fact. Without me asking, he agreed to follow our house rules and offered me the respect that I expect from every member of my home. Instead of discounting our ways and judging us, he studied us and asked questions genuinely interested in the Winchester Way. Because while Sam's family knows we're 'different,' and even knows some of the less graphic details of how we choose to live, none of them have been as up close and personal, none of them have witnessed the things Dallas has over the past twenty-five years. He's still a Colt, no doubt, but I consider him a Winchester, as much as I do Sam and Dean.

Despite all the years living here and getting a small taste of what it's like to live by the Winchester Way, there were still things that escaped his comprehension and at the top of that list is just how much he's considered part of our nuclear family and therefore under my household flag. Perhaps I've been a bit remiss in relaying that to him, but he's about to find out.

He's got some of me in him. It's hard to say whether he picked that up along the way (highly possible) or was just born with it (also possible); Sam's Daddy is a pretty powerful force himself and Dallas takes after Samuel Colt Senior. Even sounds just like a younger version of him, so much it's eerie. I'm definitely in there though and I think Dallas knows it. What I don't know, is what's got into his head, making him think that he should be marrying _Axl Swift_ instead of my brother, _especially_ without my permission.

It's situations like this one, that make being head of house difficult. I'm not just here to 'boss people around,' I'm here to make important decisions for them. I don't make any of my decisions lightly. I take pride in making sure my brood is safe, healthy _and_ happy. It's huge responsibility.

Broad shouldered Dallas sits in the leather chair in front of my desk taking up the whole space and I feel like I'm about to take on a stallion, a gentled one, but a stallion none-the-less. I don't often deal in 'tops.' I wonder if this is how my father feels when he has to deal with me, or Clarabelle?

His eyes seem apologetic, but also resolute. I know how much this boy (he still seems a boy to me, even at forty-two) respects me, he'd drown kittens before he'd let me down, but he's got the look of a man who knows he's got to do what he's got to do and damn the consequences—or rather, he's considered the consequences and he's willing to accept them. There's not a lot I can do with that, except try to reason with him. I know Dallas wouldn't make such a decision lightly. There's also some of that nervous boy tension, threaded through his posture. Much as he is a man and one like me, it's near impossible to sit in front of someone you hold in high regard, someone who has always been a 'superior,' and know you've disappointed them in some way even if you _know_ what you've done was for the right reasons.

He's even respectfully waiting for me to have the first word and I don't mean to keep him long, not like I might with Dean, or Sam when I'm chastising them, I know each word I say's got to have impact, so I'm waiting for the perfect words to come and as I do, I must be frowning because he winces, stung.

"I'm sorry Dallas, but you couldn't have expected I would be pleased with this turn of events, could you?"

He sighs heavy, suffering. "In my estimation, I thought my chances were fifty-fifty, sir. I didn't count on the permission thing, honestly I didn't, or I would have discussed it with you first. I didn't think I was…no, now I see how silly that was…I, what I'm trying to say is, thank you brother Cas, for considering me one of yours. It means a lot."

The poor boy is fumbling, it's like watching a drunk bull. It makes me want to ease up on him, but I know that won't do him good in the long run. It's hard, but I remain firm. "Of course you are Dallas and even if that weren't so, I should think I've earned your confidence enough for a man to man discussion about this."

"I know Cas, you have and I'm sorry it fell to the side of the other fifty percent, not to mention, I was so darn scared of what you'd say," he sighs. "That I'd have to face that look I, I thought maybe if I just said yes—"

"That'd I'd just let it go in favor of a happy time?"

"I know, it was dumb. That's not you at all, but I was so caught up in the moment, it was so romantic and I," he pauses to wipe at his eye. "I wanted that moment."

Dallas is the most level headed, considerate boy, but love has always confounded him. It's the wild Colt in him and it's beautiful—the way he's such a hopeless romantic—but he's been known to fumble on occasion, with matters of the heart. I think we are all subject to this folly; no one, no matter how composed, is impervious to love. Love rules us all.

There's an edge of a smile in his eyes and it's playing on his lips, as he thinks of that moment—he does love Axl and that's something.

"What did he do?"

Dallas releases the smile he's been holding back. "Took me to an indoor ice rink he was able to convince the owner to allow him access to after hours and proposed to me on the ice. It was after one of my concerts too and those are always good nights."

Damn. That _is_ Dallas's version of romantic. I don't know if my brother's that romantic.

"That does sound like a very good night," I agree. "How do you plan to tell Christian about this?"

It's a fair question and it will give Dallas away whether he wants to be given away or now. The soft lines of his youthful complexion (the Colts have great genes) tense into mild, frustrated anger. "I'm going to do him the courtesy of telling him in person, pretty quick once we get to Texas."

I nod. "What makes you, so sure you don't want to at least talk this over with him, before going through with it?"

"I was going to brother Cas, but the more I thought on it, I realized it would end up being an ultimatum and I don't want to do that to him, nor do I want that for me. I was fine to wait on him, long as it took, but he's made clear recently, that he never wants to get married, he says it's because he likes our open relationship, but I know it's because he never wants to ask your father for permission."

"Oh for all the ridiculous, Dallas, we need to deal with this the way we should have done from the get go, but I let you, Dean and puppy eyes McGee manipulate me. Christian needs to come clean."

"As if you'd let them, or me manipulate you and for this long. You haven't done anything, because you agree at least to some extent. It needs to come from Christian, he has to want to tell your father who he really is and be prepared to deal with any recoil."

"I'm pretty sure Father's known this whole time."

"Me too and even he won't call Chris out on it. I think he agrees that Chris has to be the one too."

"Yeah, I know. It's just, frustrating."

"Not to be rude Cas, but yeah, tell me about it—you think you're frustrated? Try twenty-five years of on and off and toe-bashing heartbreak. I'm a sucker for him, I guess."

"I thought he was more comfortable with having a head of house? I thought you two had something sorted out?"

"I thought so too. It's been working for him and I for years, so well I thought…well I thought we were close, but then last October he started actin' funny. I knew he was irked by my decision to go on tour and I told him if we had something more solid than what we had currently, we could make those kind of decisions together, in that we'd talk about my going on tour rather than me phoning him up and just telling him. He said, _'naw, you're right Dals, if I don't wanna settle down, you shouldn't have to run things by me. I only choose to do so with you because of our deal.'_ He still sounded pissed though, so I said (since he can't take a dang hint) _'we could make it more, we could get married.'_ Then he flipped out. I had a mind to fly out just to tan his hide, but since it was to do with the forbidden topic, I made sure everything was smoothed over and left it. He called a lot less after that, for a while, but I called him as much as I could with travelling and all. If you looked at us from afar, we'd look the same talking on the phone as we always have done, but it wasn't the same. He was distant. I tried to bring up the discussion we'd had a few times, but each time, it caused a fight, so I learned to avoid it, planning on bringing it up next we saw each other. I was hoping to get a chance to see him in person in January, but they moved my tour schedule up, so it never happened. Eventually, he started calling me again, just as before, _almost_ like nothing happened, but he kept dropping hints about how not into marriage he is, until I recently made a rule that the next time he says the word, he's going straight over my knee first chance we get alone."

Calm, even tempered Dallas is panting at the end of that speech. It worked him up.

"Because he'd already succeeded in making his stance perfectly clear, I don't need it shoved in my face over and over and it wasn't getting us anywhere. I'd already been seeing Axl again by this point and he had been thinking about settling down. As you know, we've been off in on too, in a similar manner to Chis and I. I always knew it would be one, or the other, I just hoped…well, I'm not going back and forth on it anymore. I choose Axl, ah, if you approve that is?" he says uncertainly.

I sigh heavily and shake my head crossing my arms in the way Dean always calls my 'I sincerely disapprove' look. "I don't like what I've heard Dallas. You have not properly resolved this between you and Christian."

"I tried Cas. It led to fighting."

"You are the top Dallas, you let him walk all over you."

"I know, but I…unless we take this further, I don't feel right being any firmer than I was."

"Sorry, not good enough."

"Cas…"

"I consider you one of my own Dallas, I want your happiness, if it's not with my brother, that's fine, I will give you my blessing to marry Axl, but not before you resolve this with Christian. I'm aware that we have no formal agreement between us, you are not required to bring Axl to Sunday dinners now that you've moved out, though you are certainly welcome to if this moves forward and you are not obligated to obey me, but I wanted you to know my opinion on the matter. If you go ahead with this, you will be doing so without my support."

I hate being the one to take the wind out of Dallas's sails, but that's what happens. He slinks down in the leather chair looking a bit trampled. I don't want him to feel badly, but I don't think he's able to look at this situation subjectively enough; I have to be honest with him. "I'm not going to marry him without your blessing Cas. I know you never say something lightly and that you care about me. I can't pretend to be happy about it, but I'll resolve things with Christian before moving forward. I'll discuss it with you again after I talk with Chris."

"I'm sorry, Dallas. I really am and I'm here to help."

"I know Cas. Are we done here? May I go lick my wounds?"

"Almost," I smirk at him, but I like to think I'm using a soft smirk—Dean says there's no such thing. "It's been an awfully long time with you being in a semi-Winchester-style relationship. Are you still claiming not to have any desire to live this way?"

"Aw Cas, please. Did I do something to tick you off?"

"Next time you decide to get married, ask, then I'll go a lot easier on you. Answer the question, please."

When we began this conversation, Dallas's presence was filling up the room, now he's trying to slink further into the chair and make himself smaller. He huffs. "I like what Chris and I have if that's what you mean."

"I want you to think about that too, we'll talk about it when I see you in Texas."

"Yes, sir."

"Now you may go."

His body relaxes again, mostly resuming the carefree posture we know him for, but like he's just been on a taxing run. "Jesus Cas, if that's what I got, I feel sorry for anyone who thinks they're going to marry Dean." He stands up and straightens his shirt.

"Who says I'm even going to entertain the idea with someone? Especially that angel. He's dating my son and that's fine, I'm even happy to have him to Sunday dinners and help him form a healthy, solid Winchester style relationship with Dean, _for Dean's sake_ , but if he thinks I'll just hand Dean over to him willingly…well, he can try."

Dallas smiles at me, not believing a word I'm saying, thinking I'm joking. "Sure, brother Cas. As if you don't give Dean everything he wants."

"Why does everyone think I spoil him? That boy ends up over someone's knee more times than I have fingers and toes to count these days, and he hasn't seen the mid of a night in weeks."

"And even with all that, I still say he's spoiled. It's the good kind though. I'd spoil him too if he were my son."

"He's just as much yours, Dallas."

"Really? You mean that?"

"I do. You helped us raise him; he's got lots of you in him. C'mere, Dal," I say laying on my old accent thick and open my arms for him wrapping him in a strong hug.

"You'll get to do this in your own time, I won't interfere and I'm not going to allow Dean and Sam, who are likely plotting some foolhardy attempt as we speak, to interfere either," I tell him as we part.

He nods.

"In fact, send them in next. I might as well deal with this all at once."

~DM~

"Y'all can put the wine away," Uncle Dal says when he hits the kitchen. "Celebration's off."

Uncle Dal looks different than he did before he left with Papa. Sure he's sullen, but he also looks relieved. "But Papa said—"

"Papa said, no one's getting married yet," he winks. "We can still drink wine with dinner if you like, half-pint, but y'all have to go talk to your father first."

"What? What did we do?" I'm freaking appalled.

Michael smirks at me.

"I think it's best you go with them, Michael," Uncle Dal says.

"What? What did I do?" Now he's appalled and I get to smirk at him.

"Cas knows as well as I do that they'll con you intah helping them with whatever asinine plan they have for getting Chris and I together," Uncle Dal explains to Michael.

"What plan?" Daddy says.

"That one playing on your face," Dal laughs and pushes his brother playfully.

"All right, all right. C'mon Dean Bean, let's go see Papa and get wrung out. You'd better come too Michael, I'm sure if he knew you were here he'd of mentioned it to Dal."

"This isn't fair," Michael grumbles. "Why should I get lumped into a category with the two of you? He's already got enough reason to hate me."

Uncle Dal laughs at that. "All I know is I don't envy you Michael. Thank God you're an Archangel going up against the likes of Castiel."

"Tell me about it. A lot of good that does me. I often have to remind myself he's only human. Papa Winchester would have made one terrifying angel," Michael says seriously; we all laugh at him.

"Well c'mon, we better head to his office before the angel Castiel comes looking for us," Daddy says.

~DM~

He has the cane on his fucking desk. And not the Michael fun spanking type lap cane, a legit cane made of bamboo—I had an unfortunate meeting with the thing not all that long ago.

Fuck do I hate that thing. Papa was only mildly surprised to see Michael with us and moved his extra leather chair in front of his desk for him. The damn chairs always feel so cold when you're sitting, waiting to get told off. Daddy looks fine, used to this kind of thing. Michael is clearly pissed off, using anger to hide his terror and I'm somewhere in the middle of the two. I'm not afraid of Papa per se, I know he'd never hurt me beyond discipline, but fuck, when his eyes are on you like that, Michael's right: Papa would have made a damn fine angel. Makes me squirm in my chair on my still slightly sore ass, the spanking I just got from Daddy, still making its presence known.

"You see this?" Papa says.

We all nod.

"This will be used on all of your bare bottoms if I find you have anything to do with plotting to get Christian and Dallas together."

"How many?" Daddy asks defiantly.

"Careful Baby, I don't like that tone. To answer your question, six for Dean," he says looking at me first, I wince. That's not bad, but I know it fucking stings and leaves a nice reminder for a day or two. "Twenty for you," he tells Daddy. I'm guessing that's just outside of his comfort zone, but you'd never know, Daddy doesn't even flinch. And if I hadn't just received a reminder of how strong Daddy really is, that would be my reminder. "I know I can't stop a Colt once they have mind to do something, but it is my duty to notify the members of my house what I expect from them and the consequences for disobeying."

"Yes, sir," Daddy and I both say at the same time.

"As for you Michael, if I find out you had anything to do with this, I'm going to request that you take fifty with this. While you may reject that punishment without consequence, you won't see, or talk to Dean for seven days, am I clear?"

"Clear, sir and I will acquiesce to any punishment you request of me. But why do I get, so many more than everyone else? I assure you, my vessel feels pain. I'll feel them like anyone else would especially considering my weakened state." His mouth twists distastefully, at pointing out his weakened state.

"You'll also heal within the hour I wager, which factored into my decision, but the primary reason is that I expect more from you. You are a top, you have greater responsibility. Fuck it up and I will make sure the consequences are severe. Is that a reasonable enough explanation for you?"

Michael knows it's the only one he's going to get, the angel can just barely look Papa in the eye, but not because he's cowed, because he's fucking pissed and he doesn't want Papa to see. "Yes, sir."

Of course, this whole time, I'm wondering if we should come clean about the Uncle Chris call, but I can't look at Daddy, or Papa will figure us out. I did say I was in, no matter the cost to my behind and I meant it. Six cane strokes aren't fun, but they're manageable. This is Uncle Chris and Uncle Dally we're talking about, I'm willing to do whatever it takes and I know Daddy is too, but is Michael?

I don't see him worrying about a few cane strokes, but not seeing me for seven days and no contact will drive the angel mad with worry over me.

"I feel I have dealt with the matter sufficiently. Of course Dallas and Christian may want to discuss the topic with you and that is fine, but no match making. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Yes, sir," the three of us say in unison.

"Is there anything, anyone wants to get off their chest before this matter is closed?"

This would be a great time to tell him about Uncle Christian, but no one says anything.

"Okay then. Shall we proceed to dinner?"

I know Papa hates doing this on the night before he has to leave. He's confided in me that it's not his role to be liked all the time, he's required to do what's best for the family even if it makes him a 'bad guy.' It's not always easy to be head of house and I see that more as I get older—I sure as fuck don't want that kind of responsibility, I don't know how Papa does it.

~DM~

After dinner Dally needs to head out and I decide to give Papa and Daddy time alone, since Papa leaves in the morning, I'm so generous…not to mention this means I'll get some alone time with Michael. We haven't had much time to just breathe together in awhile, I haven't even had time to revel in the fact that he's _finally_ coming to Texas with us. I get one full month of Michael.

The angel can't stop staring at my bruised face. I think he's still a little pissed at me, but that's fading, his lips are twisted into a irritated pout, his eyes look like they're trying to solve a riddle. "Are you trying to solve world hunger, or world peace?" I ask.

"Both," he says. "If I ever find out who did this to you, I'm going to hungrily take a piece out of them." He reaches out to ghost his fingers along the purpled flesh.

We're on the couch in the living room. Daddy and Papa left for their bedroom with a goodnight and a don't stay up too late (it's only seven-thirty, gee, I wonder what they left to do. Ew). I still have a whole bunch of lines to get done and I should tell Michael to leave, but I can't. "Sooo, am I still confined to the house?"

His whole face clouds over. "Are you going to tell me who did this?"

"Are you going to unleash holy angel rage on them?"

"Yes," he says.

"Then, no."

"Then, yes," he says. "It's not a punishment," he reminds me. "It's to keep you safe, I'm concerned for you. What if they come after you outside of school hours?"

"It wasn't like that Michael."

"I don't know what it was like, you won't tell me."

"Are we really going to go round and round like this all night? If so, I'm going to work on my lines. This is stupid Michael."

"I will attempt to put it aside for the moment. I need…I want to be with you. Just for a little longer, then I should let you finish the assignment your father gave you."

"My parents are probably fucking, you wanna sneak up to my bedroom and do the same?"

"I'm not suicidal, Dean." But before I can pout over him saying 'no,' he adds, "let's go out to the tree house."

Once we're there, he practically attacks me, lips bruising mine, but that's as rough as we get. I don't even know that I can call the rest of what we do fucking. Technically, yeah, that's what it is, but it's wrapped in softness and worship. I feel like he's trying to tell me something he can't say with words.

Once we're both naked, he slips an arm under my back, sweeps me to the floor of the tree house and spends more time kissing me as our naked bodies press together. I appreciate his long, lean form above me, I love when Michael covers me like this, our legs tangled together, cocks resting beside one another; I love feeling him, being consumed by him. He pulls away suddenly. "I know it's not your favorite, baby, but will you fuck me? I want you inside me tonight, Dean."

Michael doesn't ask for this often. I'm a happy bottom and he's a happy top, it's how we like things. "Of course, I can do that for you, Sugar."

I want to make this good for him. I don't top, because I'd rather be devoured by Michael, it's literally just preference, but I can 'do the whole topping thing' and do it well. I'm a natural at sex, call it a god given talent if you like. Maybe it has something to do with my old life, I'm not sure. I do know, I'm going to rock Michael's world.

I flip him over, which I know is him letting me flip him over. Just because he's an angel low on juice, doesn't mean I could out power him, ever. Not in terms of physical strength anyway.

He's already smiling up at me and, as we all know, Michael seldom smiles and so easily, especially when he still has to look at my face the way it is. "You look different right now," he says.

"Oh I am different, Sugar." I feel different.

I take some time to suck at his nipples. Lathing my tongue over the each nub and sucking to make sure they both poke out proud. Michael likes that and already I've got him making sounds, his body tensing in anticipation. His hand through my hair is gentle, not dominating at all, like it usually is. It's simply him wanting to touch me, be connected with me in as many ways as possible.

I kinda want to get this show on the road. I had huge plans of teasing him 'till kingdom come, but fuck, now that I'm into this, I want to fill him, ram my cock into him hard and watch him smile some more like that, 'till he comes apart.

But now I'm like a kid in a candy store, I want to get to the main event, so I pull out the lube from one of my many compartments here in the tree house (thank fuck my parents never come up here) and slick up his hole. He plants his feet on the floor and spreads wide for me and I slip a finger inside. "I'll bet you've never had anyone, but me fuck you in here, have you, baby?" I don't know where the words come from, they're so not me, not in this life anyway, I can only assume it's old Dean.

I don't expect his answer. "No one, Dean. Just you."

That jolts me back to reality. "What? F-for serious?"

Irritated Michael is back, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me on top of him. I have to pull my finger out of his ass quickly. My body slams down on his and he kisses me fiercely. "Stick your cock in me Dean, now."

"Don’t you dare distract me. Answer the damn question, Michael."

"I will, but I want your cock in me first."

"But you're not…I haven't opened you completely. Won't I damage your vessel?"

"Just go slow. Angel, remember? I'll be fine. I need you in me Dean."

I nod and let the tip of my cock poke at his hole, I take my time letting my dick feed into his smooth channel and when I hit bottom I wait. "Give me just a second," he says and pulls me into another kiss, this one sweet-tempered. "Mmmm," he hums. "You taste, so good Dean."

"I'm in you, stop stalling." I look him square in the eye, trying on my best imitation of Papa.

"For serious," he drawls, still irritated like he regrets admitting to that in the heat of the moment. Before I can get too happy about that, he tries to ruin the moment by adding, "you know this is not my favorite position," trying to insinuate it's no big deal.

I'm not letting him get off that easy. I pull out slow, pushing back in just as slow. "Fuck that Michael. Then why ask for this at all? And why only ask me?"

"Shh. Keep it down. I would never have told you that if I knew you were planning on broadcasting it to the entire neighborhood."

There's nobody around…unless there is. I don't say as much though. He'll just deny it anyway, but I am going to keep that in mind. I pick up the pace and talk quieter, but use the information to my advantage. "You wanted me to fuck you like this, sugar?" I give a particularly hard thrust so he'll stop thinking.

"Ugh…yeah, baby. I need you."

That gains my sympathy. It's more the way he says he needs me, like he can't breathe without me, fuck. I wish there was something I could do to ease his worry for me. I've done all I can as is, other than tell him who did it and I can't do that. If only he'd stop being fucking stubborn and let it go, but I believe him when he says he literally can't. It's times like these I'm reminded that Michael isn't human; he's wired differently. I wonder how long he cleaned the loft over this?

Michael's staring up at me and it's fucking _adoringly_ , I almost can't handle the intensity of his gaze and the love in his eyes. It's like looking directly at the sun. Fuck it. I don't even care if he doesn't say it back…much. "I love you, Michael," I tell him as I fill him.

It makes his smile a contented smile that I rarely see on the obsessive, compulsive angel and it's worth whatever that's going to cost. He pounces, renewed, and flips us over in a smooth motion. My cock is still filling him, but now he's on top, where I like him. He pounds down hard as I push up. There's no more talking, just us, joined, kissing, moaning, sweating. Trying to get as close to each other as we can possibly be.

It seems to take forever for us to reach orgasm, a lot longer than usual anyway, we drag it out, so we can be joined for as long as possible, while we kiss and nuzzle and just enjoy each other.

After and when we're both clean, we lay together. Michael's got me pulled to his naked chest and I've got a leg wrapped around his naked torso.

"Thanks, Duck. I…I needed that, I feel better."

"It's about fucking time. When's the last time we fucked? However long ago it was, it's too long."

"I don't think you understand what it means for an angel to bond with a human. I try to show you, tell you, but, I don't know I'm doing a good enough job, Dean I…this thing at your school is eating at me. I don't want to be so protective of you, I know humans do not like that, but I can't even help it—if only you knew what I wanted to do with you. I feel like that, as you would say, 'douchey' vampire from Twilight."

I think I know what he wants to do with me, lock me in a room full of bubble wrap where nothing and no one can get me. "I don't think vampire douche would have let that chick practically have a second boyfriend."

"Don't remind me. Will we be seeing Bradley this summer?"

"Probably."

"Joy."

I laugh. "As much as it pains me to leave rather than have more sex, I'd better go work on those lines. My parents are trying a new thing where they're giving me trust I haven't earned then making me earn it. I don't want to fuck it up. It's going to take me forever to finish those fucking lines," I groan.

"I don't feel sorry for you."

"Not even a little bit?" I pout.

"Okay, maybe a little bit," he says kissing my forehead. "Behave yourself and you won't be in trouble all the time."

"It's just so hard. Like this whole Dally thing. Does Papa really expect us to sit idly by and do nothing?"

"I doubt it. I think he fully expects something hence the Defcon five level warning."

"Aren't you going to issue your own warning?"

He's quiet for a moment. "No. If one's not enough, then I can't stop you."

"C'mon, where's your old college try? And that's not even true Michael, you can stop me if you really want to, unless…you don't want to! You want them together as much as we do," I accuse.

"You know I like Dallas, and your uncle Chris is a Winchester, so of course I like him. The only Winchester I don't seem to get along with is your father. Their relationship isn't my business at all, so I won't help, but I won't stop you."

"Papa's still going to consider not stopping us, helping." I'll get Michael to help us eventually. "You might as well just help."

"I don't think so, duck. I'm staying out of this time bomb."

I should leave now, go do my lines, but I don't want to, it's not often Michael and I get time like this. "I don't want to leave," _he_ says echoing my thoughts.

"Me neither."

He sits up abruptly, reaching for my shirt then throwing it at me, he grabs his pants. "Well, c'mon then," he says.

"Where we going?"

"Winchester library. I want to stay with you. Besides, soon as I leave you'll start texting Hannah, or Football head. Either way you won't make a dent in your assignment and if you think I'm going to allow that, you're sadly mistaken."

I start dressing fucking excited he's staying. "Brad doesn't let me goof off either you know. It's why I got any lines done at all."

"That, so? Least ol' pigskin is good for something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally this story gets to Texas. It's about time! Sorry it took me so long!


	22. Dean on a Plane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Announcements:
> 
> The Mock machine is a little slower getting updates out, but as you can see I'm still consistent ;-) Work makes me tired! I would love nothing more than to stay home and write FF all day, but I have to make money. Stupid mortgage. 
> 
> In the mean time, I'm both excited and nervous to announce that I'm going to post a Mock Original. It's a story I wrote a long time ago, which is complete and has a sequel! It's got some similarities to this story and one of the main characters is very Dean-like, with a Cas like-father. Sadly no Sam-like character. It's a Sci-fi and once again, I've created my own world! 
> 
> I need to do some major edits on it, but I think if you like WW, you might like this one. I kinda want to publish it, but I think this is a better venue for it. I just want these characters to be enjoyed! 
> 
> So, it will be my gift (I'm still going to have to put quite a bit of work into it, even though it's complete) to everyone still reading Winchester Way. I'll begin posting it soon. 
> 
> Until then, enjoy this! (P.S. Once again, shamelessly stole direct lines from the plane episode on the show, but made them applicable to these characters)

It's Friday evening and we're all packed to go; I'm lugging my suitcases to the door, so we can just leave in the morning when my phone rings. It's Papa, probably phoning to check I finished my lines, which I did by the way and with time to spare (I had Michael and Brad to keep me working on an organized schedule). I answer. "Father?"

"Hey Angel," he says.

So not the lines, he would have been far more formal, hence the 'Father.' He's either worried about me or wants to tell me something special. I'm betting on explanation A.

"Daddy told me you got all your lines done, thank you. You all ready for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Papa," I say cradling the phone in between my ear and shoulder and dragging my second suitcase to the front door. "I'm excited to see everyone." And I am. I'm also fucking excited Michael's coming.

"That's good. I miss you and Daddy already, can't wait to meet up with you."

"There something you want to talk to me about Papa?"

"I can't phone my son just because I miss him?"

"You can, but it's not your M.O."

"Okay, I'm caught. I'm worried about you, Kiddo. You sure you want to fly commercially? I can arrange to have the private jet ready for Sunday."

"I'm good Papa. I swear. Not feeling a lick of fear. Besides, I'll have Michael beside me."

"Don't remind me."

I laugh. "You bought him the ticket, with a seat right next to me. Thanks again for that by the way. I'm really grateful."

"You're welcome, kiddo. Everyone's right, I do spoil you. Especially if I'm buying tickets for snarky angels."

"Oh c'mon Papa, Michael's been trying real hard. I thought you two were really bonding?"

"Let's just say he's not on my Christmas card list."

"Papa, be nice."

"I am being nice, believe me." I do. "Okay, if you say you're good, I trust you, Kiddo."

"Oh yeah, I'm solid as a rock. You don't gotta worry about me Papa."

"I'll always worry about you. How's your face?"

"All better, but Michael claims he can still see traces, I think he's imagining things."

"Good. Is Uncle Dal staying over?"

"Yep, we're having a Colt pajama party, but uh, well that is, we're missing one. What are the chances you'd let Michael stay over tonight too? I mean, we're basically having a month long sleepover starting tomorrow night and that's awfully early for him to have to get up to come over…"

"I'd say your chances look grim."

"But, Papa—"

"No, Dean. He can come over to participate in whatever insane Colt ritual y'all have planned then he goes back to his loft until the morning."

"Yes, sir," I say unhappily. I really thought he might say yes, considering.

Papa chuckles. "You've got the whole month. All right, well if you're sure you're going to be okay, I'll leave it. I just…have a bad feeling, I sensed you might be…well that doesn't matter now. Have a safe flight son. Love you."

~NEXT MORNING~

It's early. We're talking, the worms aren't even up early. I rub my eyes, staring at the table until a coffee mug comes into view. "Drink that Dean Bean," Daddy says; he's the early bird on speed. How the fuck is Daddy always so fucking chipper, even at _this_ time of the morning? I'm more like Papa in this way, I guess.

I'm still in pajamas and my hair's not done, we're always more casual when Papa's not around, but I should get dressed. I take a sip, expecting delicious coffee, too asleep to have missed the lack of scent, but it's not coffee. It's fucking ginger lemon tea. "Blech. Daddy, what the fudge?"

"I'll have coffee ready in a to go mug for you. My mama's sixth sense is kicking in, you're fighting a bug. I noticed last night."

"So you admit to being a mama hen," I say drinking the tea. It actually tastes pretty good, but is fucking disappointing when you're expecting coffee. That was just cruel.

"I've never denied it," he says, but he has too. Instead of answering, I sulkily drink my tea, while I find the scent of the real coffee being brewed and let it fill my nostrils.

Michael slides the glass door to the kitchen open and joins me at the table, looking neat and put together. Wait. Something's different. He's smiling.

"Hey gorgeous," he says tousling my already tousled hair.

"Hey Michael. Daddy's being crazy again—save me."

Michael looks at Daddy, the question of 'what the hell is he whining about now?' in his eyes. "Hey Michael," Daddy says. "Don't mind him, he's cranky. He's fighting a bug."

I scowl at Daddy.

"Daddy Winchester," he nods hello. Wow. _He's_ so casual this morning.

Daddy beams. "You hungry, Michael?" Daddy asks, both of them completely ignoring my griping.

Michael doesn't always eat, but Daddy still asks him. "No thank you. Maybe just some of that coffee stuff you humans salivate over."

"Coming right up."

Oh sure, he gets some.

"Are we waiting on Dallas?" Michael asks.

"I heard him in the shower," I say staring at him; instantly mesmerized. I've always been mesmerized by Michael.

"Which you need to do too, so hop to it. Shower, dress and meet us by the door in twenty, Sur."

Daddy hasn't even landed on Colt soil and he's already entered Captain of the ship mode, and I know not to mess—all Colts know not to mess with Sam Colt.

"Yeah, yeah," I say swallowing the last bit of my tea, aka, Colt remedy and hopping to it.

"Excuse me?" his eyebrow is arched high.

"Yes, sir."

~DM~

Everything's fine. Really. Everything. Michael and I are sitting together in first class, Daddy and Dal are three rows back from us and I'm sipping on a soda, as in bubbly water. You think Daddy would let me drink anything with glucose-fructose in it? You're crazy. Especially when he thinks I'm 'fighting a bug.' There's a strict, low sugar policy in effect. He hasn't officially said it, but he doesn't need to. I've been around Daddy long enough to know what the deal is.

"I'm going to ask you, and I expect you to be honest with me duck, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Michael. Jesus Christ," I whisper, so Daddy can't hear me taking the lord's name in vain.

He looks me over carefully with squinty eyes. "Hmm. I think you truly believe that."

"I believe it, because I'm fine Michael." At least he's calmed down about my face. The bruises are gone and he's laid off about tracking down the 'assailant' (his word, not mine).

"We'll see about that."

Not long after Michael ends his interrogation, Daddy's there. "Here baby, boy," he says handing me a blanket, a blue blanket (is that my freaking baby blanket? Yes, yes it is) and an iPod touch with headphones. He's also got a little zip-lock baggy with something inside…oh no…are those what I think they are?

I take the items, so I don't cause a fuss, but of course Michael has to play twenty questions. "What's all this?"

"Dean can't fly without that blanket."

My cheeks heat. "What? Daddy, yes I can."

"Name a year you flew without it."

"Last year."

"Nope, you had it last year. I would know." I'm about to argue that, but then I remember…crying…into something. Yeah, I cried, okay? silently and into Daddy's chest. "Well I don't need it this year," I say shoving it back at him. He takes it, but he looks worried.

"What's on that?" Michael asks pointing to the iPod touch.

"Metallica," Daddy answers.

"Don't need that either, I have Metallica on my phone. If I really need Metallica, which I won't, I'll put some on from mine." I shove that back at him too and he looks annoyed. Usually I let him take care of me, I know he likes to, but, I feel this strange desire to show Michael I'm an adult. As if he doesn't know what I'm like, yeah I know, but I feel grown up having my not-boyfriend on a family trip with me. I don't want baby blankets and coddling right now, it's interfering with the grown up vibe.

"But this one's all set up, sweetheart, you won't have to fuss around when you need it."

"I'm okay, Daddy really."

"Well you're keeping those, Dean Winchester and I expect you to take one every hour, on the hour, am I understood?"

"Yes, Daddy," I say.

"What are those?" Michael asks peering into the bag.

"That is a Colt family recipe," Daddy says.

"They're pre-cough-cough-drops. Daddy thinks I'm fighting a bug, apparently they're preventative. They taste like ass," I say accidentally.

"I've had about enough sass out of you Dean Winchester," Daddy warns and I know to cool it.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I'll make sure and take them." Now I can't sneak kisses to Michael because my mouth will taste like ass.

"Your daddy is concerned for your well being and why was I not notified about this _bug_?" Of course Michael the brown noser, takes Daddy's side.

"Because I'm not fighting a bug. Thanks a lot Daddy, now he's all riled up." I cross my arms and pout.

"Every hour, Dean," are his parting words for me. Great. He's pissed at me and worried about me—not a good combo.

I shove one in my mouth as he walks away, so I don't have to hear it from Michael; I don't want to kiss him anyway, he always takes Daddy's side. He laughs at me. "What's your problem? Normally you're happy to indulge him."

"C'mere," I say pulling him to me, kissing him roughly and letting the taste infest his mouth. "That's what."

"That's hideous."

"Yeah, and I was hoping our inflight entertainment would include us making out."

"Believe me, Winchester, I have no plans to make out with you during this flight, or any flights which have one of your fathers and an uncle three rows back."

"Really? C'mon. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I've never had a sense of adventure, not when it comes to you. I think you hurt your daddy's feelings. You should apologize."

"Yeah, I'll apologize later." I do feel kinda shitty about that. "So what is going to be our inflight entertainment, if we're not making out?"

Michael's staring at me funny. "Whatever you want Duck."

Whatever I want? Why's he so fucking agreeable today.

Dal comes over next, he's got the iPod touch in hand and I recognize those eyes, they're his Top eyes. "Uh, Michael, can I tap you out a minute cowboy?"

Michael knows what's coming and smirks at me, like I'm the little brother in trouble. Ass.

Michael gets up. "I'll go soothe Daddy Winchester." Suck up to him some more he means—he's always sucking up to Daddy.

Uncle Dal sinks into Michael's chair, I cut him off at the pass. "I'm going to apologize Uncle Dal and I'll take that." I flick my eyes toward the iTouch.

"He's kind of flipping out Dean—he's worried about you. He voted for different seating arrangements, you and him, me and Michael. Your papa knew you'd want to sit with Michael, so he okayed it." Huh. Maybe Papa does spoil me. All those spankings must be a rouse.

"I was inconsiderate Uncle Dal, I'm sorry, really."

He smiles and hands me the iPod touch. "What's really going on?"

Damn, see? Top eyes. Just because they're Uncle Dally's softer, much less intense than Papa's, doesn't mean I can't see them a mile away. "I wanna be a big boy," I say cheekily.

"Dean."

"It's true. I just, this is a pretty grown up thing, having my…angel along on the big family trip." I don't add that it feels like I'm bringing my serious boyfriend to meet the family, because he's not my boyfriend and he's already met a lot of the family. "And it was kinda embarrassing, Daddy bringing me my baby blanket, Uncle Dal."

Uncle Dal chuckles. "You don't have to impress Michael, half pint. You've already won him."

"Not really," I mutter, but don't mean to say it. I've been doing a good job of not thinking about that lately, but it pops up every once in awhile. "Thanks Uncle Dal."

He's looking me over now with his own Uncle Dally version of Papa's concerned look. Of course he _looks_ more like Daddy than he does Papa, but that's just in physical looks; there's a harder edge to his eyes than Daddy has when he's worried about me and reminds me more of Papa. "Okay, half pint. You know I'm around if you need me." The, but he's got his eyes on me too is implied, yeah I know.

He moves back to his seat and Michael returns, smirk firmly in place. "I think you're in trouble."

"I know. I'll fix it. Daddy can't resist my Dean eyes—'specially if he thinks I'm coming down with a bug."

I pull out my earphones, ready to watch a movie, for after all the inflight announcements. If Michael doesn't want to watch, so be it. When's this damn plane going to take off?

~DM~

It's stupid. So fucking stupid, but it starts sometime between with the attendant is explaining the bit about putting you own mask on before assisting others and the procedure for emergency exiting, when I start to feel it. It's an anxious jittery feeling, but not the good kind like after a cup of coffee, the someone's about to stab you from behind and you're not prepared type jitters. Michael notices right away.

"Those knuckles are looking awfully, white Duck," he says in my ear.

"I, I'm fine," I say exhaling slowly. Jesus Christ. What the hell happened to old Dean that made him so scared of planes? Enough it carried through to his next life in me? Not even Bobby knows the answer. I wonder if John Winchester knew? Something tells me he didn't know. It's a strange sort of knowing, because I have no recollection of events of that particular topic, I just _know_ he didn't. I do remember John though. Every now and again. Dean, old Dean, uh, me I guess had a hard life with the guy, but he was always there for him. As it is with many of the bits I remember from my other life, I can recall feelings better than I can actual details. Old Dean loved him, respected him, but also feared him just a little bit. I do remember his face. I have one clear memory of him smiling at me proudly and every so often, I miss the oval faced man.

I can't even fucking believe this. I was fine five minutes ago, but a full blown, internal panic attack has been ignited from within; breathing is becoming difficult. I close my eyes and start the breathing exercises Daddy always has me do as the jets whir on high, preparing for take off.

"Duck—"

"God _dammit_ , Michael!"

I expect him to tell me off for snapping at him like that, in the least scold me for not telling him the second I began feeling nervous, but instead, I feel his hand unwrap mine from the arm of the seat (my eyes are still closed) and his fingers interlace with mine. "It's okay, Baby. I got you. Nothing's going to happen to you while I'm around."

That's not enough though. I'm not fine. I'm suddenly really, really not fine. I squeeze Michael's hand hard; I'm lucky he's an angel and I can't squeeze too hard. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do when this plane crashes to the ground?" I hiss at him. Eyes still closed.

"It's not going to crash."

"Oh my god, oh my god, are we moving? We're moving, fuck. I don't like this Michael. This was a bad, bad, stupid idea." The plane's going, it's heading down the runway.

"Breathe, Baby. C'mon. You're okay."

"This is bullshit," I say opening my eyes, I'm getting off of this thing. I start undoing my seatbelt.

"You can't just get off the plane, we're moving, Dean." He stops me from undoing my seatbelt and holds me in place, lifting the seat's arm out of the way and wrapping his arm around me. "How bout some Metallica? Sandman?"

"Yeah," I swallow. Did it get hotter in here? My throat's suddenly dry. "Try that."

Michael hums Sandman in my ear the entire time the plane is taking off, his arm wrapped around me; I try and breathe. He tries to card his hand through my hair, which normally I love, but it's not right and it irritates me. None of the usual stuff is working. Nothing's working. Why the fuck isn't it working? I sit up. "You okay now?" he asks.

"Do I fucking look okay to you?" We're in the air now, I don't feel any better. I feel worse.

"How about more water?" He's still being patient with me, knowing I'm on the verge of a breakdown.

"No." The plane shifts and jumps a little. "C'mon, that can't be normal."

"It's just a little turbulence, duckling," Michael says gently.

"Michael, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm friggin' four."

"You need to calm down," he says evenly. "Or Daddy Winchester's going to be back here."

"Well I'm sorry, I can't."

"You have to calm down, Dean," Michael says in that walking on eggshells tone again and I'm so agitated, I'm a bit pissed.

"Stow, the touchy-feely, self help yoga crap—"

"Okay, enough." He undoes my seatbelt and yanks me up.

"What the hell are you doing Michael?"

"This is a job for one person," he says dragging me down the isle. We get the stink eye from the flight attendant, but she doesn't say anything, it is first class after all.

Uncle Dal's not surprised and starts unbuckling his belt, preparing to room with his new bunkmate (Michael) and soon as his seat is vacated, I dive into the seat next to Daddy, which is closer to the window, which Daddy reaches over to close of course.

"Just a sec sweetheart, lemme move this too." I let him move the arm of the chair out of the way, then wrap myself around Daddy's torso—nope, don't give a shit who's looking.

"I'll come back, in a bit," Michael says over my head to Daddy handing him something, the iPod touch, I think.

Daddy starts running his monstrous hand through my hair and it's just the _right _way and it starts to take away the edge of my panic. "Oh Dean Bean, you scared?"__

__"Yeah, and I don't fudging know why, this is stupid." Great, now I'm fucking crying._ _

__"No one knows why, baby boy." He squeezes me to him and kisses my head. "Don't worry about why."_ _

__"I'm sorry I snubbed you and all the stuff you tried to give me. You were right and Michael was doing everything wrong and…crap make it go away, Daddy."_ _

__Daddy laughs still carding a hand through my hair. This is almost perfect, but I still need one thing. "Daddy, do you have my…?"_ _

__"Right here, sweetheart," he says pulling out the soft, blue blanket. It's worn, but it's still retained some of its baby smell, like it's part of the blanket, I don't know how it's never gone away._ _

__I cuddle toward it, letting its softness brush my nose, snuggle further into Daddy, close my eyes and just breathe in and out…in and out. When Daddy starts humming _Nothing Else Matters_ , it's perfect and I sigh into my little Daddy fortress finally starting to calm down._ _

__I guess some things are just Daddy's realm of expertise. With everything the way it's supposed to be, my body relaxes and I'm able to fall asleep._ _

____

__~DM~__

 _ _When I go check on him, he's curled up with his baby blanket, Mr. Blankenstien I believe it was called, and fast asleep. "How did you do that?"_ _

__Sam's smiling wide. He loves getting to snuggle with his boy, which Dean does often, too often for a seventeen-year-old anyway, but not as much as he did when he was little—Sam misses it. "I didn't do a thing, just fell asleep."_ _

__That's crap and he knows it. Sam has a magical effect on Dean. "Guess I'm not needed." I go back to sitting with the broken cowboy. Yes, broken. I've never seen Dallas so distraught in my life. He's spinning the ring around his finger, over and over and over._ _

__"Dean's out cold," I tell him when I return._ _

__He gives a perfunctory Dallas chuckle, but it's not his usual sunny laugh. He needs Sam too (I'm certainly not equipped to give relationship advice), but I do feel bad for him; I've always liked Dallas._ _

__"Figures. That boy hasn't spent one plane ride without at least some of it asleep beside Daddy."_ _

__He's still spinning the ring. The laid back Cowboy's nervous. I really don't want to ask him, but I feel obligated. Dallas has always been good to me, has even taken my side on occasion with Papa Winchester. Fuck. All right. "There are easier ways to remove your finger."_ _

__"Sorry, Michael, I'm just chewing. Brother Cas said a lot and well, there just ain't much else to do on a plane, but think on it. I can go get my book."_ _

__"No, no need to do that," I say trying for concern. Not that I don't care about Dallas, but all my energy goes into worrying about Dean, there's not room for much else. "Want to use me as a sounding board?"_ _

__"Really? You'd do that for me Michael? I know your humans policy is pretty much Dean only."_ _

__"That's not true. I indulge Daddy Winchester from time to time."_ _

__"True enough," he sighs. "Okay, well Cas said some things and they really hit close to home—he kinda has that way about him, huh?"_ _

__He says that like we're comrades. I guess he figures I've been through my share of Papa Winchester encounters. "You could say that. Does this mean you're considering not going through with this farce?"_ _

__"Tell me what you really think, Michael," he laughs, good naturedly, relaxing a little. I think this is helping him, though I don't see how, I'm not offering much. Trying not to. If the Winchester fools want to have their asses caned by Papa Winchester, they're really on their own. "You and Dean are lucky that way I guess. No matter who y'all date, it's just each other for you two."_ _

__How could he know that? If he knows that, my father knows that and that's not fucking good. Just like that, the tension is back. All morning I've been at ease, letting my guard down—I can't afford to fucking do that. Especially, this trip. I wouldn't doubt he's sent someone to watch me._ _

__"Monogamy is a bizarre, societal construct. Humans are not meant to be monogamous and neither are angels. I thought we were talking about you."_ _

__"Right, sorry," he sighs. "From one top to another, what's your opinion, Michael?"_ _

__Now Dallas is labeling himself as a top? "My opinion is that this is further than I'd like to go into this conversation, I was supposed to be a sounding board, not a self-help book, but I'll leave you with the sappy human anecdote of: Follow your heart."_ _

__"Is that what you would do, Michael? Do angels have hearts?"_ _

__"Angels have bonds and _obligations_ , nothing more." I know he believes I have a heart, because of Dean, but I don't. Dean is my heart. I don't care about much else after that. "I can't give you a proper answer. Sorry Dallas."_ _

__That makes him look down at his lap, spinning that forsaken ring again. It's troublesome to see this particular human in such peril. "Will you stop that?" I reach out to still his hand and huff, annoyed this has fallen to me. "Fine. I have one more thing to add, but it too is fairly cliché," I say looking around and talking low in his ear. I don't think there are any angels on this plane, but it's hard to be sure. "Instead of settling for who you can live with, strive for who you can't live without."_ _

__"That, so?" he says quirking an eyebrow at me._ _

__"Yeah, even if it costs you an arm and a leg in Pine-Sol."_ _

____

__~DM~__

 _ _"Daddy? We there, yet?" I say waking up from my nap, but not opening my eyes, or moving from my spot across Daddy's broad torso._ _

__"No Dean, Bean. Go back to sleep, I'll let you know when we're close."_ _

__"What about Michael?"_ _

__I feel Daddy's large hand in my hair again. "He's worried about you; checked on you so many times he got in trouble with the flight attendant. She's lucky he doesn't have much…you know…or he'd of smited her by now."_ _

__I snuggle further into Daddy. Thinking of Michael doing that for me makes me feel warm— _he fucking cares about me.__ _

__I've still got some of that nervous anxiety in me, that…okay, I always feel when we fucking fly. _Yes, I'm finally out of denial._ But I don't feel panicky anymore and I think I could sit with Michael now if I tried…I just, don't want to hurt Daddy's feelings and that hand in my hair does feel good—Michael doesn't do it right—I decide it's not worth hurting Daddy over, I'll see Michael when we land. Besides, this'll give Uncle Dal and Michael some much needed bonding time. They don't often get time to talk._ _

__"Dean Bean, would you be okay if Daddy went pee?"_ _

__I almost laugh. Daddy must be worried about me if he's talking in third person, like I'm a freaking three-year-old. Then I remember that I am cuddled up to my baby blanket and clinging to him for dear life. "Yeah, I'll be okay." Don't really want him to go though._ _

__He slips away smoothly and I keep my eyes closed, shifting against the seat 'till I'm comfortable, but it's cold. I'm not cold long as the slender, familiar body slides in and roughly pulls me too him, staking his claim. "Hi Duck," he says, the gentleness of his voice juxtapose to the gruff, possessive way he holds me._ _

__I open my eyes to peer up at him. "Hi."_ _

__He leans down to kiss my lips. "You're not obeying orders."_ _

__"What orders?"_ _

__"I taste the distinct lack of bitter, yet strangely sweet Colt cough drop special recipe."_ _

__"Oh," I laugh. "I was sleeping. Here, I'll take one." I reach into the bag that's still in my pocket and pull one out, wincing at the flavor, but moving it to the back of my mouth and tucking it somewhere, so it doesn't cause trouble. "Will you still kiss me?"_ _

__He smiles so big, his blue eyes shine and he kisses me again, it's a chaste kiss, but it still makes my insides twist naughtily. "How do you feel? No lying," he says with eyes I know to obey, or else._ _

__"Better, but, not good Michael. I fucking hate planes. Can we never fly anywhere except Texas then home again? I don't care if I never fucking see Italy even if they have the hottest women."_ _

__"Never is a long time."_ _

__"And too soon when we're talking planes. I'd rather just drive everywhere in Baby—hey! Let's go on a trip to Canada, I hear they've got some great ski mountains."_ _

__"You don't ski."_ _

__"I could learn, but I think I'd rather snowboard."_ _

__"If you think I'm going to allow you to put death sleds on your feet and slide down a slicked up pile of ice then you don't know me very well."_ _

__"I know, I just wanted to hear you say it."_ _

__His hand moves to my hair, where Daddy's was earlier and the way he moves his fingers through my short hair is different than earlier. Still not quite how Daddy does it, but another version of perfect. "Mmmmm…" I say relaxing and squishing further into Michael._ _

__"Go back to sleep, Baby, okay?"_ _

__"What's with you today? What's all this 'okay' bullshit?"_ _

__"Go to sleep, or I'll blister your bottom and I promise you, it won't be fun."_ _

___Ah. That's better._ I don't say it out loud though, choosing to drift off to sleep instead, knowing full well, Michael meant every word of that and that he always keeps his promises._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on BDD next and should have a chapter up soon!


	23. Adrift Amongst a Sea of Colts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll be happy to know we get to have a BRAD BREAK for a little while ;-) He will be back (sorry) but #Mockpromises fun times with that and it will all lead to making Michael and Dean that much grander. 
> 
> The word "Topversations" was all SKL. I can't take credit for that one. She's so good at making up words! So when you see that you have her to thank!
> 
> I take much inspiration for this series from the readers. Y'all inspire me like crazy and are the reasons I've been writing this for so long, so thank you! Thank you! 
> 
> One more thing on that same note, I've noticed the subtle, not-so-subtle requests for more Papa snuggles and general Papa Presence. Mock wants that too! So, while there's no Papa in this chapter (frowny face) I think his business trip is going to get cut short ;-) So bear with me and you'll see him soon!

When we're out of the car, officially landed on Colt territory, it begins. "Uh, Michael? You might want to cover your ears."

"Why would I want to—"

"Georgia!"

"Sammy!"

"Mama!"

"Dallas!"

Their greeting is loud as usual and I hang back just a little, watching, enjoying them from a far, which Papa calls Winchestering. Winchesters are far less animated than Colts. It doesn't mean they love you any less, it's just not the way they are. "Dean! Come see Nana baby!"

I only get to hang back so long, with all of them taking turns hugging each other, until I'm pulled into the Colt frenzy by Nana. "Hi Nana," I say as she pulls me to her. I wrap my arms around her.

"You're getting so big!" She kisses my face a million times before she notices Michael and it's hard to stop myself laughing because I know what he's in for and exactly how much he's going to like it. "What's going on with you? You look tired, you getting sick?"

"I think he's fighting a bug," Daddy helpfully provides.

"I'm not fighting a bug, Nana. Daddy just thinks I am. It's just tired from flying – that's all."

Daddy gives me the stink-eye for contradicting him.

"Still. Grandmother's have a sixth sense about these kinds of things dear, I best make you some of my special tea."

Goody.

"Michael! So glad you could come this year! C'mere sugar." Before the angel can figure out what's happening, Nana's got him pulled into one of her constricting hugs (Nana's strong for an old bird). "We're so excited you're here. I've got a room set up for you in the hall across from Dean's."

"Um, that's great Nana Colt. I thank you."

I still get a fluttery, smirky feeling every time I hear Michael refer to Nana Colt as Nana Colt rather than Mrs. Colt. She established that with him early on and you just don't mess with Nana Colt. She's sweet as honey and loads of fun, but she'll set you straight when she needs to. "Come on in, come on in, everybody's inside!"

We drag our suitcases in the door and she wasn't kidding, everybody is inside. I see Uncle Jackson, and my older cousins, Winnie, Jasper and Sable who are his kids and I know all have kids probably running around in the backyard somewhere. Auntie Bree's here too with her daughter Suzanna, who's bouncing little Riley on her knee (he's one I think). Auntie Bree's got three more children, Aiden and the twins, Ricky and Rory (girl) who are my age.

Auntie Savannah's here too. I don't see her husband or any of her kids (who are both in their late twenties and I know one of them has a kid) so she must have come alone. Auntie Louisa's here too and I don't see her kids, but that doesn't mean they aren't here, hers are a bit younger and they could be out back. She's also got a little one on her knee.

My cousins Sammy (he's Samuel 'the third') and Austin are here, they're Auntie Georgia's two eldest (yes they have kids too) but I don't see Aaron, Jesse or August her other three. Uncle Jamie and his husband are here and their son Anderson who's also my age. He's actually an adopted moddler, which is kind of cool, but he wasn't spiked like I was, and proper Modlenol was used on him, versus the demon/angel kinds that were used on Michael and I, so his situation's more 'normal.'

Auntie Caroline's here on her own, though her kids are younger and some of'em could be outside. Auntie Lily Faye just had her first babies six months ago, another set of Colt twins; May and June (I know, I know, but they're so cute no one cares) who I've only seen in pictures 'till now. She's got one and her husband, Uncle Justin's got the other. Uncle Hunter's even here, Auntie Lily-Faye's twin with his wife who's holding their youngest, Emmy. I know they've got a five-year-old, Julie, and mini-Uncle Dallas is sitting on his Daddy's lap. He looks just like Uncle Dallas and he's named after him too. Dallas Junior. Auntie Luella's even here. She's in her mid-thirties now and no kids, or spouse, but I think she's got a girlfriend.

Yeah, I know, right? So many Colts it makes your head spin and this isn't all of them, we've still got all Daddy's cousins and their kids and their kid's kids.

When Granddaddy Colt sees me, he gets up from his recliner to greet me. He's younger than Grampa Winchester, who's already in his eighties, still in his late seventies. His hair's mostly grey, but still long, with a clean shaven face that's only just weathering. He's still got enough strength, I think all the kids keep him young. This house is always bustling with activity. "Well hello there Grandson. It's been too long.

It takes an hour to go around saying 'hi' to everyone, and then Daddy comes up behind me. "Okay Dean upstairs. Let's go."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what for? We just got here Daddy."

"I told you, you're fighting a bug. You're going to lie down for a couple of hours. Nana's got your room all set up."

Michael's smirking at me. "Daddy, I'm fine."

"We're not arguing about this, Sur. Move."

My Daddy's somewhat of a legend in the Colt house. A legend that's passed on from generation to generation. No one in the family wants to be on the wrong side of Sammy Colt. I can tell by some of the looks I'm getting from the kids, they're amazed I'm still alive for even _thinking to argue._ But I've got Papa you see and compared to him, everyone seems like soft cuddly teddy bears aaaand he's not here right now. Otherwise I'd have been up the stairs like a jack rabbit.

"Daddy," I whisper. "Can't we talk about this?"

"I will start handing out spankings. Move." Nope. That's not whispered in case you were wondering.

He's not kidding. I blush hot, because I'm sure anyone in proximity's heard him. "Okay. Jeez." Michael, who's stuck close to me this whole time, tolerating the receiving line of hellos, follows us, smirking. We retrieve our luggage from the front door and head up the stairs, away from all the mayhem; it feels like being pulled from the crashing sea. We only do this once a year, it's not enough for me to get used to an ocean of Colts, but it is fun. I know Daddy misses it sometimes, but Papa, much as he loves the Colts, he loves calm, quiet, relaxed and all other adjectives of that nature.

Michael makes himself comfortable on a chair, while Daddy starts rifling through _my_ suitcase. "Here, put this shirt on, and take those off, it'll be more comfortable for sleeping, I want to take your temperature."

He hands me a tank top, that's not so bad since it's hot as blazes anyway, so I strip off my jeans, down to my boxers when Daddy leaves the room and change my shirt, trying to come up with a reasonable argument of why this is nuts, one that will sway Daddy, but nothing's coming. This is happening.

Michael pulls a book off the shelf. "Wipe that look off your face, Duck, else it might freeze that way."

"Well, this is bullshit. I'm not sick. Daddy's overreacting."

Michael laughs. "I double dare you to say that to his face."

"What's Michael laughing about?" Daddy says, returning and bearing a thermometer.

"Nothing, Daddy. You know him, he's just being himself."

"Open," he says sticking the thermometer under my tongue. "I'm going to give you two one warning, _just_ one. If you're going to fight like little children while we're here, I'm going to treat you like little children and you're going to find yourselves staring at corners. Am I understood?"

Remember that legend I talked about? There he is. Daddy at home, even 'Daddy without Papa for too long Daddy' _and_ in a bad mood, is a lot more tolerant than this, but soon as he gets around this many of his family members, he's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; a switch flips and he slips into his Captain of the ship mode, like he never left it. No one questions it.

I look at him levelly and nod, since I've got the thermometer under my tongue – that would be fucking embarrassing here.

"Yes, sir," Michael says putting down his book to look Daddy in the eyes.

When the thermometer beeps, Daddy takes it out and inspects it. "It's just as I thought. It's not too high, but it's above your normal temperature. As doctor Shaggy says, that's your body fighting a bug."

We are all familiar with what doctor Shaggy says in our house. He's right between holiness and cleanliness. He pulls me off the bed so he can open the covers for me, I climb in because Daddy means business right now. I'm a little shocked that my temperature's up right now, because I really do feel fine, just tired and I want to argue and say my temperature's likely up because we've just arrived on the sun, but I don't.

"Okay Michael. Out."

"But, Mr. Winchester, please. Don't make me go down there with all those Colts. I'm not ready for it alone. Besides, I'd rather hold vigil over Dean," he says like I'm on my deathbed.

"You can stick with me, honey. We don't bite." But Daddy must be able to see the same thing in Michael's blue eyes that I do because he does that head tilt thing he does when he's reconsidering. "Okay. You may stay here and watch over Dean. _No_ funny business. I mean it you two. If I find out you had sex in Nana and Granddaddy Colt's house, you'll both receive the spanking of your lives."

I doubt either Nana or Granddaddy Colt would care, but that's not the point, Daddy does. "Aye aye, Captain," I say. My humor is not appreciated. _Wrong time, wrong place, Winchester._

"Just because your father's not here, doesn't mean you can misbehave Dean Daniel Jonathan. I am the gatekeeper on your fun times until he returns, I'm not afraid to put restrictions on those."

Whoa. When he gets this way, I can't help, but admire this version of Daddy; he's kinda bad-ass. "Yes, sir."

He looks to Michael. "Yes, sir. I won't even look at him, with sexual suggestion."

"You may stay then and you may read. No talking. He's sleeping."

"Yes, sir."

Once he thinks we've been put on notice, he softens. "Sweet dreams Dean Bean. I'll get Nana to pull out some soup broth for you."

"Thank you, Daddy."

Soon as he's gone, I laugh into my pillow, hoping he doesn't hear. Michael can hardly contain himself either. "Give me one of those," he whispers.

I check the door, then toss him a pillow, so he can laugh into it too. We both do rounds of "shhhh…be quiet," to the other and freak when there's a knock on the door. I flip over and pretend to be asleep, Michael tells the person to come in and by this point, I'm already sure it's not Daddy. He wouldn't have waited since according to him, we couldn't possibly be doing anything that we would need privacy for. I'm right, it's Uncle Dal.

"I know you're not asleep Dean, your daddy just left."

Damn. "Hey, Uncle Dally," I say opening my eyes and looking at him. I don't like that look in his eyes. Man, I'm supposed to be sick, why's everyone scolding me?

"I thought we reached an understanding on the plane, half-pint."

Aw man. Yeah Uncle Dallas is, well, my uncle, but we've always considered each other friends too. It takes a lot for him to reach disappointed. "We did, Uncle Dal. I was just excited, but Daddy put a lid on that. I'm going to behave, I swear."

Unfortunately, Uncle Dal has a two strikes and you're out policy. He shuts the door and lays down on the other side of the double bed. He stays on his back, closes his eyes and folds his hands onto his belly. "Go to sleep, Dean," he says in his calm, cool Uncle Dal way, but it's a firm order.

I flick my eyes to Michael real quick. He's already reading again, but he flicks his eyes up to me too; we silently agree it's in our own best interests for me to go to sleep and him to read. So we do and I can't help, but feel that Papa-like comfort, with Uncle Dal beside me. 

It's not long before, Dean's…out.

WW

Now that Dallas is here, I feel somewhat useless. It doesn't upset me as much as it used to. Even I have to admit that after many Topversations with Papa Winchester, I'm beginning to understand their convoluted system of "Topping," so to speak. On the plane, Dean required a particular kind of comfort, right now he needed a particular kind of 'Top.'

Papa Winchester seems to think that as mine and Dean's relationship evolves, he'll come to me more and more for that. Papa Winchester's often pointed how much he and Sam have been through to get to where they are in their relationship. He says it will be easier for Dean and I, because we are surrounded by a family of those who know exactly how to ground Dean, that when I make a mistake, or simply can't 'see' what Dean needs, as we're learning about the other in this new way, someone else from the family will step in. It was easy to see that's what just happened.

Not to mention, after being scolded by a superior, I fumbled a bit. And well, it was kind of funny. It's not often we get to see Terminator Daddy Winchester, I only wish I'd brought popcorn.

Papa Winchester's pointed out that Dean and I have always had the foundations; Dean's always looked to me for solid support, just as I've looked to him for other kinds of support.

I watch Dean sleep for a bit. He does look a bit off. Sam is ridiculously good at sniffing that sort of thing out. I hope he extricates this 'bug' before it really hits. I doubt he'll let me heal him. He knows too much about me, knows how much of my already low reserve of grace it uses up and how tapping into my own, also low amount of grace, will exhaust me. He's clearly stated on many occasions that it's going to have to be life-threatening before he allows me to use my grace to heal Dean.

Daddy Winchester also knows that my father has forbidden me the use of my grace, unless I'm on a mission for him, and what he'll do to me should he find I've disobeyed him. But I don't care how much my father carves me up, I'm willing to suffer that for Dean, though strangely, I find the naughty step much worse and I've no doubt Daddy Winchester would do that no matter where we are.

In a very human-like manner, I take a deep breath and decide to brave the Colt Sea. These are Dean's family members, if my plan works with father, perhaps someday these will be my family members. Not that I care to have relations with them, but I know it's important to Dean and what Dean thinks is all that matters.

I close my book and slip out the door. It is hotter than a forno oven here, so I remove my jacket and undo a few buttons to my shirt. On my way down the hall, I bump into Nana Colt. "Oh, Michael. Do you know where your room is?"

"No, Ma'am."

"I'll show you, you'd probably like to change, you must be sweltering in that get up, corn muffin."

This woman insists on calling me 'corn muffin,' while Gramma Winchester insists on calling me peanut butter (even though I hate peanut butter), I'll never understand this family's fascination with cutesy nicknames. At least Gramma Winchester's consistent, only varying with the odd, 'dear,' 'sweetheart,' or other such common grandmotherly type endearment. Nana Colt will call you anything from Corn Muffin to Chicken Noodle Soup.

I follow her back toward Dean's room; I'm just across the hall from Dean, like she mentioned earlier. "Um, Nana Colt, my suitcase is back in Dean's room."

"Don't you worry there, sugar-pop, I've got some extras I keep for the grandkids and such. I've got something that'll fit you. You go'on and undress, I'll fix you up."

Why I decide to undress (and in front of this woman) I'll never know, but I do, down to my boxers and stand there stupidly as I wait for her to dig into the closets. "Aha! This will look good on you. We should get you a hat too. We're all outside now, that skin'll burn in this heat."

The chances of my skin burning are low, I suppose it could happen eventually, but it's highly unlikely. I'd need at least forty-eight hours of continuous sun at high intensity for that to happen. But she doesn’t know how angels work and I want to be polite, in any case, I don't argue about the hat, but the pants… "Nana Colt, these have holes in them. There's hardly any blue jean left."

"You're just gonna have to trust me, Sugar. Those will be just the right amount of breezy and the shirt's a thin cotton. Get dressed and I'll fetch you a hat and some sandals."

_Sandals?_

As fun as standing half naked is, I decide hole-ridden jeans are better, so I put them on and the t-shirt. I slip my socks off in preparations for the 'sandals' I'm not likely to fight the little human on anyway. Already I feel…comfortable.

"Well don't you look handsome! Dean's gonna love it."

"H-he will?"

"'Course. I don't know who doesn't love a cowboy. Here."

She hands me a black Stetson and a pair of flip-flops that don't look too bad. Thankfully they're not those damned Havaiana brand flip-flops Dean insists on wearing, they've got, sturdy straps and thick foamed bottoms.

"Thank you," I say as I slide into them and don the hat.

"You're all set. Take your time and c'mon down to the back. We're serving drinks and food on the deck."

I don't take long, just enough time to look myself over and make sure I don't look too stupid, except I think I do look stupid. So long as this impresses Dean, I'll do it. If he laughs, I'm changing.

I head down and the house has been completely vacated by the adults, there are too many kids running all over the place, so I head (escape) to the kitchen. Sam's there, already putting trays together and calling out orders to people. He looks at home doing it though. Likely Papa Winchester knew this, I'll bet he planned his business trip this way, gives Sam a bit of time to stretch his Captain legs. He's smiling, but has got that busy look in his eyes. The amount he's able to do all at once is impressive and I can see why he needs people to just follow orders, especially when there's this amount of people. If not, the ship will sink.

Everyone's helping too. Even some of the little ones. I stand watching in awe a few moments. At first glance, it looks like utter chaos, but on closer inspection, you can see that all the parts of the Colt engine run with orchestrated precision, perfectly timed pistons and well oiled carburetors.

Sam finishes with the trays and volunteers someone to bring them outside. Someone hands him a baby, who he greets specially, then goes to stir something on the stove, like there was no interruption. He gives the baby a cracker (which I'm sure is a homemade, Colt approved cracker) as he continues to stir the pot of something and instructs some little girl (I haven't met all the kids) to do something while someone else is asking him what to do with a little boy. Sam looks around and his eyes land on me.

"Michael, you're here. C'mere please."

Fuck. I have a bad feeling about this, but I go. "Give Dallas to Michael, Ansel sweetie. He'll know what to do with him."

The little girl (Ansel, I guess) hands me a little blonde boy and I take him. "Dallas?"

"Yep, that's Dally Junior, aren't you, Sugar-pie," Sam says to him. "He's Hunter and Gerylene's boy. He's three."

"Well can't Hunter or Gerylene handle this?" I say, but he's already curled into me.

"Gerylene's not here, she had to leave and Hunter's busy."

"Mr. Winchester, can't anyone else take care of him?"

"What is it with you and Dean today and the talking back? I've had it up to here, Michael. You can look after him, minus the complaining, or find a step to sit on until dinner."

Asking him if he remembers that I'm a millennia old angel is a stupid question that will get me sent to said step. It's an easy decision. "Yes, sir. What do you want done with him?"

"Better. Take him to pee and entertain him. He looks tired to me though, see if he'll have a snooze."

"If he does fall asleep, where do I put him?"

"You're in charge of him, so that's up to you. I suggest somewhere you can keep a close eye on him."

"How long am I in charge of him?"

"'Till his Daddy can take him, or dinner, whichever comes first."

Perfect. I'll complete the first two tasks then find his daddy and I'll be done with him. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, honey."

I forget to ask where the washroom is, but when I turn back to ask Sam, he's already being bombarded by the next three Colts with questions for him, I don't know how he does it, this would drive me insane. I do the only logical thing and ask the three-year-old. "Do you know where the," I clear my throat, "potty is, Dallas."

"I'm not Dallas, I'm Dally, who're you?"

He's got a thick little accent and clearly being passed around doesn't phase him, he's probably used to it. "I'm called Michael." The whole time I walk, I continuously peer into different rooms, finally chancing upon a washroom.

I go inside, shut the door and set the kid down on the floor. _Okay, I remember how to do this._ I remove his pants and underwear completely (Dean used to get them full of pee) he's not wearing shoes or socks, his feet are filthy. I'm going to have to wash those, I am compelled. Nothing like I'm compelled with Dean though. Just a 'normal' level of desire for cleanliness and not what Dean calls my angel OCD like I get instantly with Dean.

I see a little stool and stand him on it in front of the toilet, I hold his shirt up for him. The whole while, the kid stares up at me in awe, trying to figure me out. "Do you know who Dean is?"

He shakes his head. "Well he's your big cousin and I'm his friend. Go pee."

He obeys, his tiny member starting in little spurts then trickling pee into the toilet as he makes a poor attempt at controlling it. _Great, now I've got to clean up pee too._

"Okay, say goodbye to the pee, we have to clean you up." I'm being sarcastic, but he takes me literally.

"Bye bye, pee." He waves.

I sit him on the counter and start on his dirty feet (I don't know why I bother, without shoes they're bound to get dirty again), he giggles. "That tickles, Mycle."

Huh. This kid can speak well, that's pretty good. "I do apologize."

He laughs again. "You talks, fu-funny!"

Somehow, he doesn't have any of the invisible dirt Dean always seems to have on him and I get his feet to cleanly perfection in one go. I re-dress him. "Thank you," he says. Manners must not be just a Winchester thing.

"You gunna play with me?" he drawls.

"Um, yes. What do you like to play?"

"Chase me!"

What?

The kid runs off and I do chase him. Thankfully I'm fast, but these ridiculous shoes make it difficult even for me. He makes it through the kitchen, but I snatch him up. "I don't think so, that's not a good game. Let's go find something else." _I know a good game called 'find the Daddy' I'm going to play._ We head outside.

Outside is utter mayhem. When everyone was in the living room, they all seemed contained, like a plant pot of mint, but released out of their pens like this, it's mint, mint, all over the place. Growing in with your oregano and thyme; at least that's what Daddy Winchester complains about all the time. They are a ravenous sea and I feel like I'm going to be swallowed whole.

I spot Granddaddy Colt, it's eerie how much he and Sam look alike. He's barbequing ribs. "Hey there Michael, you lost?"

"A little. I believe this one belongs to Hunter. Have you seen him?" Thankfully, I have a photographic memory and I remember what he looks like from re-meeting him earlier. Before now, I hadn't seen him in a few years and while I don't change much anymore, humans do.

"That'd be Hunter, he's over there," he says pointing to a dirty-blonde chasing two little girls around. "You want me to take him Michael?"

Tempting, but Daddy Winchester was clear with his instructions. "No, sir. But thank you – I'm supposed to find his daddy."

"Gotcha. Let me know if you need anymore help."

I head off in the direction of Hunter, my funny shoes making an annoying sound, seriously regretting my choice to come down here. I'm adrift with no life raft, I should have waited for Dean. The whole time, Dallas junior stares at me. He's actually fairly quiet like Dallas (with the odd burst of three-year-old enthusiasm) and has got the same kind of eyes; I'm not talking about color, though they are Colt blue. Dallas has a way of reading your soul and so does this kid. "You're shiny," he says.

I've been an angel a long time, I've seen things that would scare the bravest of people and not batted an eye. That creeps me out a bit…which makes me end up liking the kid some. "Shiny?"

"Yeah."

Some kids, special kids can recognize angels. Or I suppose it's more like, they recognize when a human is not just a human. This kid senses something different about me, but probably can't articulate what. It's something they usually lose over time. I've never asked Dallas Senior about it, but I bet he could do it…maybe he still can.

I approach Hunter and he looks busy. He clearly does not have the skills of big brother Sammy. I thought they were playing, but on closer inspection, he's trying to get them to settle down. _Someone needs to tell this Colt there's no such thing in his family._ "Jesus Murphy Emmy-Lou, you need your diaper changed, c'mere." He scoops her up.

The bigger kid climbs onto his leg. "Daddy! I'm hungry, hungry, hungry!"

He looks stressed out and like he hasn't slept in a very long time, I'd wager since the one on his leg was born. I wonder how many of these things Dean's going to want? I know he wants at least one (thanks to his weird dream). Despite all his tough talk about getting back into hunting, whenever I tell him he's not getting back into hunting, I know he wants a family and it's a known fact: Hunters can't have families. The ones that do, end up with really tough lives…like Old Dean. I don't like thinking of Old Dean because Old Dean is still my Dean and I have certain opinions of what I think of my Dean hunting vampires at twelve.

"Howdy Michael."

Hunter knows who I am, who I really am. Most of the Colts do now. I used to 'play' with some of them when we were 'kids,' so Sam and Castiel were forced to explain why I was young again when my father re-modified me, hopefully for the last time. Modification is common enough (though there are some groups that would like to see it banned – it's become increasingly controversial due to the number of spikings that have been happening over the last ten years) but there was no lie fool proof enough to tell Sam's family, so we went with the truth. No one seemed surprised since many of them had their own theories about me anyway. The Colts are insightful people, it runs in their blood. However, only Jared and Jensen know the hard truths about angels, most Colts view us as saviors, so I'm well liked by all save the hunter twins. Jared doesn't hate me, he's just wary, but Jensen would like nothing more than to see my head impaled on an angel blade.

"Hello Hunter." Hunter's tall like the rest of the Colts, with much of Jensen's cool swagger, but a healthy sprinkle of Dallas's calm presence. He looks a little like Dallas, but his hair's not as blonde.

"Oh, you got Dally, thanks. Poor kid, he's the easiest, so he gets the least attention. You don't mind, do you Michael? I gotta change this one and feed the other. He need anything?"

Guess I'm not off loading the kid. "Sam says he might need a nap?"

"Lookit! He likes you, Michael. Just curls into you, that's real cute. Yeah, he looks tired, you can put him to sleep if you want. Our kids aren't on any particular schedule."

Of course they're not. "Okay. I'll feed him when he wakes up," I offer, because it looks like I'm stuck with the kid. The best I can hope for is scoring points with Daddy Winchester when Hunter tells him how wonderful I was with his son.

"Daddy! Let's! Go!" The little urchin says and the baby starts crying.

"Okay, okay," he says bouncing the baby. Suddenly I'm grateful to only have one and for the one in particular I have. I could have got stuck with one of them. "Thanks Michael, that would be swell."

Dally doesn't cry when his daddy walks off, instead he snuggles into me further. "Wanna sleep, Mycle," he tells me. I'm shocked. Dean never wanted to sleep until he became a teenager, then he wanted to sleep all the time.

"Okay. Let's find somewhere quiet." If that exists around here.


	24. Dial-a-Top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a whopping 8K! 
> 
> One thing, I purposely repeat which Colt kids belong to who, etc and some other details, so we can get a feel for who's connected. I won't always do it, but there are so dang many, I felt if I didn't repeat certain things, then we'd never learn any Colts!
> 
> ETA: As seems to happen sometimes in the cutting and pasting, half a paragraph didn't go in, ack. It's there now.

I wake up when I hear my phone ring and know it can only be one person. All my friends have forgotten that you actually can _call_ a cell phone and so have I really, we just text now. Michael calls me sometimes, but he's…oh, not here. Where the hell did he go?

Still isn't likely to be him, so I _know_ it's Papa before I even check the call display. "Papa?" I say sleepily. Uncle Dal stirs.

"Hey, kiddo. Did I wake you?"

"Yeah s'okay though, Papa. Been sleeping…" I check the time. "About an hour."

"Were you that tired after the flight?"

"No. Daddy thinks I'm fighting a bug, he made me sleep."

"You're sick?"

"No. Not sick. Fighting a bug." There's a difference damn it.

"Dean. I'd better not hear about you giving your daddy trouble on this, you do what he says to, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir, but he's being crazy. He's gone Colt." I completely throw him under the bus hoping Papa will talk sense into him. "I'm sure he's drowning in babies as we speak."

"So that's why I can't get him, he's not answering his cellphone."

Shit. I didn't mean to get Daddy in actual _trouble._ I was just hoping Papa would do his thing with him that brings him back from crazy, not get him spanked. Papa hates when Daddy doesn't answer his cellphone. It's one of their rules, and mine too for that matter. "You want me to find him and get him to call you?" I might as well suck up, since the opportunity has risen.

"No that's okay. I'll call him later. How was the plane ride?"

"Not good, Papa," I admit. He'll find out anyway. "But I swear, I really thought I was okay until we took off. Ask Uncle Dal and Daddy and…Uncle Dal," I say twice. I almost said Michael, but as if he'll ask Michael.

"I believe you kiddo, but I'm getting my assistant to change our flights home. We'll be taking the company plane home."

Didn't need a crystal ball to see that coming. I'm not going to complain about taking a _private jet_ home. Yeah I really wanted to fly commercially, but every time I try it, I'm reminded of how much it sucks. Especially the food. I ended up feeling okay to eat toward the end of the flight and boy did I regret it.

"Yes, Papa."

"I'm worried about you Kiddo. Where's Michael?"

"Don't know, he was here when I fell asleep, but he's gone now," I say without thinking, because I'm still waking up.

" _Michael was sleeping with you?_ "

Wow am I glad we didn't actually sleep together and that Uncle Dal's here. "No. No way, no sir. He was in the chair and Daddy said…Uncle Dal's been here the whole time, you wanna talk to him?"

"What's going on over there?"

I shove my phone at Uncle Dal, who's awake now too. "Hey brother Castiel…"

I trust in Uncle Dal to take care of Papa and ease whatever fears I've just haunted him with, as I pull on a pair of shorts from my suitcase. Huh. Michael's suitcase is still in here, he must be sweating to death in that stuffy outfit he insisted on wearing.

That's as far as I get when Uncle Dal is handing me back my phone apologetically. "Papa?"

"Dallas tells me Michael's room is across the hall from yours?"

I'm not a hundred percent sure that's a question. I answer anyway. "It is, sir."

"Keep it that way. I'm not pleased to find out you've been giving Daddy a hard time about taking care of you – what's going on?"

"Nothing Papa, I swear. I'm just…"

"Dean."

It's amazing how just my name said in that tone by my father is usually enough to spur talking. "I'm really excited about Michael being here. It seems…important somehow, but I haven't quite figured that part out yet."

There's any eerie silence from the other end of the phone, I think for the first time ever, at least in my current recollection, I've left my father speechless. "Papa?"

"I'm here. Never-the-less, obey your daddy, even if he Colt remedies you to death and mind your uncle Dallas too, please. For some reason, I'm sensing Colt mayhem to be at an all time high this year. I would like to speak with Michael please. Tell him to call me later."

"Yes, sir."

"And in case it wasn't clear, Michael may not sleep in your room, nor may you sleep in his."

"I got that and if I hadn't from you, Daddy already threatened our lives, Papa."

"Not the answer I'm looking for, young man."

Everyone's so strict today. "Yes, Father."

"Thanks son. Okay, love you kiddo."

"Love you too, Papa."

I hang up, my heart beating out of its chest. Papa doesn't sound happy. Uncle Dal laughs at me. "You gonna behave now, Sur?"

"I always intend on behaving."

"Well, do it, or _I'm_ going to spank you."

Everyone wants to spank me. Story of my life. "Yes, sir."

I finish dressing then Uncle Dal and I head downstairs. He heads off to the kitchen, but I hang back not dumb enough to go in there. That's likely where Daddy is and Daddy hands out jobs. Yes, even fighting a bug. He'll just give me something less strenuous. Either that, or he'll sit me in a chair and start Colt remedies. I'm prolonging that long as possible.

I want to find Michael, no surprise. I should want to spend time with the relatives I've not seen in a year, but I need to see Michael.

I don't see him venturing out into the Colt sea. Not alone. I was surprised he left the safety of my room after he begged Daddy like he did. I check a few rooms, but no Michael, just a bunch of Colt children. Just as I'm starting to think he did brave the backyard, I hear a familiar voice singing the Winnie-the-Pooh song. I follow and arrive at the third door down the hallway and can't move.

It's Michael. I know his voice anywhere, a voice my psyche imprinted deeply, a long time ago, but it doesn't look like Michael. This one is a Colt manufactured facsimile. Someone dressed him up like a cowboy; thin cotton t-shirt, black cowboy hat and I don't know how they managed it, but they got him into jeans with far too many holes for this to be _my_ Michael.

And oh my god. His feet are _bare._ Just that makes my dick hard… I've got a thing for bare feet, Michael's bare feet.

I look to see who he's singing to. Passed out, lying on the bed in front of where he's sitting, is mini-Dallas, Michael's cool smooth voice drifts over him, coating him like sunrays. He looks content; peaceful.

It does something to me. Not just his voice singing, but the picture it makes. My heart squeezes. _Suddenly, I want this._ And yeah, I know. I know what the deal is between Michael and I; how Michael never wants _this,_ but for a moment, I pretend he does. I imagine us with a child…or four, in a house (close to Papa and Daddy—maybe they'll just let us build on their property) together, happy.

Suddenly hunting is far from thought.

I always had this idea, that I'd head back to hunting once my twenty-first birthday hit. Hell, a few weeks ago isn't the only time I've wanted to join my uncles on a hunt, but to tell you the truth, I don't even know why I was doing it, or why I'd want to anymore, 'cept that it just seems like the thing I'm supposed to do. Like some destiny that I was head long running toward. Forever. A cycle on repeat.

Now, I see it's yet just another remnant of old Dean, haunting me. I'm not him anymore. Haven't been in a long time. Even if he pops up now and again, it's just a visitor from my past. Old Dean's an apartment I've moved out of I remember from time to time, but, you know, I don't live there anymore.

You can't have kids and hunt. Hell. You can't have a normal life and hunt. I don't need to remember my old life to know that, I just have to look Uncle Jared and Jensen and if that's not enough there's Uncle Bobby. He also reminds me and has shared some of John's, my dad's, sentiments on the topic. It was a life he got us into, but it was no life for a kid and John would never have picked it for me. I didn't have an easy life, Uncle Bobby said, which was all the more reason for him to be happy I got this second shot.

Thing is, the obligation's gone. I know that's part of it; what drives me to it sometimes. Old Dean's obligation, his _need_ to hunt. More and more, I feel those things less and less. I don't have the need, the darker needs old Dean had that compelled him to hunt.

I do know what could drive me to it.

"Michael?"

"Shhh. What's wrong with you?" he whispers. "You'll wake the baby."

I smile, completely in love with him again, more in love with him, even with that searing glare he's got aimed at me. I tip-toe over and sit myself in his lap, kissing the anger off his beautiful face.

"You look fucking hot like this. Fuck me later?"

"And have my vessel castrated by Daddy Winchester?"

"Naw. We'll be super stealth." I keep kissing him.

"Do you have a cloak of invisibility you're about to tell me about?"

"Okay, okay, but you look fucking hot as a cowboy," I say between more kisses to his neck. "And this is fucking teasing."

"How quickly you forget we're dripping in your family members."

"Don't care." Kiss. Kiss.

"I do. Now stop that before your next spanking is a real one, rather than the two Michael fun spankings I'm owed."

"All right. Jeez. They dress you in panties too?" I say as I climb off him and receive a hard whack to my ass, which is definitely _not_ a fun spanking (see? I know the difference). I have to rub my ass. "Ow."

The whole ordeal wakes the baby. "Now look what you've done," Michael says.

_Me?_

None of this diminishes my joy, watching Michael with mini-Dal. Dallas rubs his eyes looking put out. It doesn't seem to phase him that Michael's here, instead of his mama. "Was sleepin' Michael. Am sleepy."

"Go back to sleep, Dallas," Michael says gently, picking him up. "I'll rock you some more."

I watch with a happy, warm feeling in my gut, as Michael rocks him, arms wrapped around his little torso protectively. Dally junior, tucks himself into Michael with relaxed trust; he knows Michael will keep him safe.

_Huh. Maybe I wouldn't be the Mama Hen in this scenario._

Michael expertly puts Dally junior back to sleep and lays him down. He puts a finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet, or else, but then holds his arms out to me, inviting me back. I make myself comfortable in his lap again. "Thought we were dripping in too many of my relatives for this?"

"We are. You feeling all right, Duck?" he says quietly.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I wish everyone would stop fussing. Where'd you run off to? You were gone when I woke up."

"I needed to make a phone call to my father then was accosted by Nana Colt and accomplices."

"Oh, you were not." I snuggle into his neck.

"Was too. She dressed me like this. I was too afraid of Daddy Winchester to tell her 'no.'"

Right. Michael likes Nana Colt and probably did it for her alone; nothing to do with Daddy. I think Michael prefers Gramma Winchester (because Michael's a natural Winchester) but he likes Nana Colt fine. I don't say anything about it though. "Daddy also the reason you're watching him?"

"Yes. It was either that or the naughty step—he wouldn't do that here, would he?"

"Did you just meet him yesterday? Yeah. 'Course he would."

Michael's face blanches. He likes to think he doesn't care what 'the humans' think, but he _so_ does. He'd be embarrassed if Daddy made him sit on the stairs like a toddler. "Glad you found me then. I appreciate the warning."

"Well I have another one for you. Papa wants you to call him."

"What? Why? What did I do?" He's practically hysterical, but still whispering of course.

I shrug. "Don't know, but I don't think you have to worry. You're safe. It's me they're all bent out of shape over."

"You do need a good spanking."

"What? Why? What did I do?"

"It's not what you did…yet. It's what's coming."

"I do not need a thinking spanking Michael."

"You do if I say you do. For that alone, you need to remember I'm the Top. I think you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten." Have I? Much as I hate to admit it, Michael's usually right about these things. "Michael, am I being—"

"Shh." He pulls my head to the crook of his neck and rest his chin on my head. "It's my fault. We're both out of sorts. But I have a feeling Papa Winchester will set me straight. I'm worried about you, Duck."

I roll my eyes (he can't see). "Michael, even if I do get sick, which is a really big if, it's usually a cold or something. I'm not going to die."

"Shh. No more talking."

I let go a big heavy sigh. Maybe Michael's the one who needs me? I hug him tight and close my eyes again. I don't fall asleep, even when he starts humming the Pooh song again, but I do feel good and a little less 'out of sorts.'

DALLY

I done took it off. The ring. Damn Cas and his level head. Damn Michael and his 'words of angel wisdom.'

I'm guilty of getting caught up. It's not often I feel sorry for myself, but I love Chris so damn much and hearing over and over about how he'll never marry me depressed me. Didn't even realize it 'till I ended up with a ring around my finger. I wanted something, anything to focus on, so I could stop focusing on _that_ —the fact that Chris was never really and wouldn't ever be mine. I'm not a man prone to punching stuff when I'm frustrated, but the situation has exhausted all my level-headed actions and I'm regressed to that—just wanting to punch something, feeling like there's no answer. I really believed things were great with us. It's been a long road. I was willing to wait long as long it took, really I was.

Then this.

Axl looking at me like I'm everything. Chris acting like I'm nothing.

Sammy's in the kitchen. Looks like he's been in the kitchen the whole time, resuming his role in our family like he never left it. "There you are. Dean awake?" he asks.

"Yeah. Went to find Michael. Cas called," I slip in casually.

My big brother pales at the mention of his husband. "Fiddlesticks. I'd better check my phone."

I already know from Cas, there are going to be messages he hasn't seen. It really irritates Cas when Sam doesn't answer his cellphone. A long standing bit between them. It's the only way Sam really chronically brats out over. He's got a thing against cell phones none of us will ever understand. It's why he's still kept their home phone line; almost no one has one of those anymore.

He shifts little baby May to one hip and fishes his phone out of his jean's pocket. "Fudge. Twenty missed calls."

I laugh and shake my head. _He's so bad with that thing. How'd he not feel it twenty times?_ It's a different story when Dean's out. Dean, unlike Sam, is obsessed with his cellphone and makes a point of only calling his daddy's when he's out. It's those times, Sam seems to have a sixth sense for his cell, but the rest of the time, it's like it doesn't exist. I do have to give him some credit. He's better with it than he used to be.

I know this means he'll be in big trouble with Cas, but I'm not worried about my big brother. "Here, you want me to take her, so you can call him?" I offer.

"Would you? Thanks Dal."

"'Course." I take baby May from him. This all works in my favor anyway. The busier I am, the less I think about this engagement mess and the less I think about Chris. I know it's something I gotta deal with, but I just don't have an answer yet. 'Till then taking care of others suits me fine. It suits me just fine.

WW

When Dallas Junior wakes up, Auntie Gerylene walks in the front door, back early from where she was. "Mama," Dallas says reaching for her.

"Well hello there baby boy, come see Mama." She takes him. "Didn't think I was gonna make it back 'till after dinner. You boys been looking after him the whole time?"

"Michael did most of the work," I say wanting him to score major brownie points with my extended family. I want them all to see how great he is, that there's more too him than just his Michael scowl. "He's peed, napped and has been entertained. We were just going to feed him."

"That true, my quiet little angel?" She teases him.

"Ah peed Mama," he says in his cute little Texan drawl.

"Good boy. Thank you boys," she says turning to us. "I'll take it from here. I know boys your age like to do things that don't include looking after little boys."

As if that's an option around here. Any Colt, should expect to look after someone or something at some point in time. "Yes, ma'am," I say for us, seizing the day and winning us some free time.

"Can you say bye-bye, baby?" she says to little Dal.

"Bye-bye Mycle. Bye-bye, Dean."

We both say bye and Michael's left staring after him. "Wait just a tick…you like the kid," I accuse.

"Do not. What do we do around here other than babysit?"

I'm staring at him suspiciously. That was more than just the usual Michael slough off. I don't get to think on it longer, or respond; Daddy comes around the corner from the kitchen. He's on the phone, his cell phone and it's easy to guess with who, just from his demeanor alone. "I did have it on me, Cassy. I was busy and didn't feel it. You know I'd never ignore your calls on purpose."

I can just hear Papa's displeased response (because this is old ground for them) of: _you're lucky our son's system is attuned to the sound and vibration of his cell phone._

Though Michael would disagree. I don't answer my cell enough for him, but in my defense, he calls me more than most people call anyone. "I didn't mean to worry you, Cassy." Pause. "Yes, sir."

Michael and I look at each other and decide wordlessly it's time for us to leave the room—they need their privacy—but Daddy holds up a finger to us, signaling that we should stay put.

My parents talk a few more minutes, 'till Daddy looks suitably chastised, then, "I'll tell him. Love you Cassy."

Some of Daddy's strict 'Captain of the ship' demeanor has seeped away, like air from a balloon. "Michael, you need to call Cas."

That's the second time Papa's got someone to pass along that message. Michael better call before Papa calls him.

" _Need_ to? What for? I didn't do anything." Gotta admit, the childish part of me thinks it's pretty funny to see Michael flipping out over my father wanting him to call.

"Because he said so," Daddy says like that's a given, because it is.

"He says to and everyone jumps?" Michael's a bit hysterical.

Daddy looks at him funny. "What the heck's a matter with you? You have actually been here the last twenty-five years, haven't you?"

"He knows, he's just scared Daddy." I smirk at Michael, he scowls.

"You two have no idea…" he begins, but then thinks better of it. "I'm not scared."

"Yeah you are."

"Am not."

"What did I tell you two about behaving?" Daddy says.

"We are Daddy."

"Last warning." He gives us his stern, he's not kidding around look.

"Yes, sir," we both say as he heads back into the kitchen.

"Least he didn't give us a job," I point out. Michael and I both laugh.

"Yes, but we still can't fornicate anywhere, our favorite past time has been banned, we might as well have been given a job."

I shake my head. "Come with me, Michael. I'll show you where the Colt youths hang out. They're a good time."

WW

"You're too young to hang with us big kids Ansel. I keep tellin' yah," Anderson is saying to Auntie Caroline's eldest Ansel and her younger brother Thomas as we walk in. Thomas stays quiet, but not Ansel.

"Y'all gonna do drugs, or somethin'? That why I can't be here?" she sasses. She's a lot like her mama. Not only is she the world's most beautiful little thing, she's smart and tough like Auntie Caroline. I have no doubt she can talk circles around all of us, even at nine. Anderson should quit while ahead.

"We're not doin' drugs. We came up here to be away from the little kids. That's you."

"Shelly's here," Ansel points out.

"Least Shelly's a teenager."

"What's that got to do with anything?" she says putting her fists on her hips like Auntie Caroline does. "I look after my younger siblings all the time, plus my cousins. I'm big enough to hang out here."

"Knock it off you two, someone's gonna come up here if they hear you fightin'," Aiden says. He's twenty, one of Auntie Bree's kids. "Like maybe Uncle Sam. He'll knock all ya'll's head together."

I laugh on the inside. Everyone's got this big idea that Daddy is some scary, bad ass dude and I guess he can be, sometimes, but compared to Papa, he's a big ol' softy. He'll be pleased to know he reigns on as Colt legend. Not that he wants to be, he just gets a bit of a kick out of it. _Even the twenty-year-olds are afraid of him._

"Anderson's got a point Addy," Ricky says to Aiden, his older brother. "We're not doin' anything bad, but it's still grown up type stuff and the whole point of coming up here. Else, why don't we just head back outside with everyone else?"

Rory, his twin (they're both the same age as me) nods. "Sorry, sweetie, but Rick's right."

Gotta admit, I'm not one for excluding anyone and I love Ansel and Thomas to pieces, but it does defeat the purpose coming up here when they're here; we would have to limit our conversation, else get a lecture later when one of them blabs. Little kids are always too excited about knowing what the big kids know to keep quiet about anything—they tend not to understand why parents can't know certain things.

"I know losta big kid stuff. I've already kissed a boy," she admits.

"You what? I oughta spank you Ansel Adelaide," Jesse says. He's older than all of us, twenty-four, but likes to hang with us younger 'kids' sometimes, though he's usually found hanging out with his twin, Beau. Jesse says we're a lot more interesting than the 'grown-ups.' He's one of Auntie Georgia's.

"Ain't that what big kids talk about? Kissing and stuff?" she says.

"Hate to say it sugar pie, but you are a bit young for that talk. I'll take'em back down," Jesse says to us. "C'mon little miss."

"It ain't fair," she complains, but follows Jesse and Thomas out of the room.

"Hey Dean," Anderson says. "Y'all can come in. You don't have to skulk around the door."

Anderson and I share the commonality that we're both moddlers, the only ones in the family. The lack of moddlers isn't because the family didn't want them, but more because Colts mate like rabbits. He's Uncle Jamie and Uncle Eric's son. He's the same age as me now, but he had proper Modlenol, not the fucked with stuff I was given, so he ages normally and will surpass me. Everyone does.

"Y'hear that Michael? We rate as big kids," I say trying to be funny. It's what the Colts like about me. My parents have done a good job giving me balance, so I'm able to fit in with both sides of the family well. I make just as good a Winchester as I do a Colt, but of course, when either parent is put out with me, claims are made that I'm more like the other's side. Michael and I walk deeper into the room. It's just a spare bedroom now, but I remember Daddy telling me it used to be Uncle Jackson's room a long time ago.

Michael doesn't think I'm funny. He doesn't want to be here. Teenagers are the equivalent of dirt on floors to him. He probably wants to Pine-Sol them all and me for getting this close to them.

"Actually, we've been waitin' on you, Dean. We were thinking about driving over to Stix's for a burger and some beers," Anderson says. He's got a friend who works there that will serve us. I've been to Stix's before. I've not really been _forbidden_ going to that place, but last time we went (last year) Daddy had that look in his eye like he suspected it probably wasn't a place he wanted me hanging out, but he didn't say anything because he had no proof otherwise. Stix is fairly new. It wasn't around when he and Papa were kids.

It's not a shady place or anything, looks good from the outside and the inside, but they wouldn't like me drinking in public and would probably have the place shut down if they knew the place was serving minors, with the other Colt adults joining them. At the same time, the Colt's are more liberal that way, when they're all together as family, they don't mind the bigger kids having a beer or two, once in a while, with the belief that it's teaching them responsible drinking, something even Papa concedes to sometimes, but definitely not when they're out in public.

To our merit, them teaching us responsible drinking has had good effect and it's rare one of us drinks to get shitfaced, but it's still against the rules and they'd still be pissed, all the parents, if they found out.

So we make it a point not to get found out.

"Fuck I could use a beer. Couldn't you Michael?" I elbow him. He fucking loves beer and besides, I really want to go. I hope he'll go for me. 'Cause I know if he's not going, neither am I.

He doesn't answer, so I decide to take that as a yes. "Let's go!"

He waits 'till everyone piles out of the room before he says something, keeping me behind. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I pretend to go though a check list. "Nope. Don't think so."

"Permission."

"I assumed you were coming with."

"From Daddy Winchester, or in the least your uncle Dallas."

"I don't need permission for this. I don't even ask permission at home, so much as let them know where I'm going, as long as I'm back by curfew there won't be a problem. There are even less rules here."

"Not when Daddy Winchester thinks you're fighting a bug. He likes to keep a closer eye on you."

"You guys still coming?" someone calls.

"Yeah," I respond. "C'mon, please Michael?" I give him the Dean eyes. "I'll text him on the way."

No response.

"It'll be fine. You worry too much, Michael. Besides, this'll be perfect. I'll find a place to take care of this," I say grabbing the erection I know I can always count on. I can also always count on Michael to be ruled by his dick. Unless it's something he considers life threatening, then there's no way of swaying him. "It's just burgers and I swear, I'll only have one beer. Besides, I'm really excited to show you around Texas." I lay my eyes on even thicker.

"This is trouble," he says, but he's not stopping me and I'm a bit shocked my wiles worked on him. I mean I was like, eighty-five percent sure they would, but there was that fifteen percent buffer of doubt. "Let's be quick. Maybe we'll make it back before anyone notices our absence. Though I doubt it."

We have to hurry to catch up to the group, but we don't make it. We're spotted by Uncle Dal. "Whoa there half-pint. Where y'all going? We're gonna eat soon."

"With everyone to Stix. I was going to text Daddy on the way." Suddenly, I do feel uneasy about not asking.

"Y'all don't need to go over to Stix. We've got burgers _and_ beer right here." So Uncle Dal does know what's up. "More importantly, this is a family gathering in our honor, Dean Daniel. I can't believe you'd even consider taking off."

"C'mon Uncle Dal. Everyone's going. They'll be plenty of dinners for us while we're here. Is this because I didn't ask? I'll ask Daddy then, but I'm sure he'll be fine with it."

"Your daddy's busy Dean. This is a call I can make. You're not going, Sur."

"What? But everyone else is going."

"You've already pointed that out, but you don't have to worry, they're not going. I'm wrangling them back too."

"Aw, c'mon Uncle Dal. Don't do that. Why are you being so strict? I don't want to be the uncool one who got their fun ruined."

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes like Daddy. "Lordy Bee. You teenagers and your reputations. I promise you, the only thing that's about to be uncool is your backside. I'm not impressed half-pint. Not at all."

I look at my feet. It takes a lot for Uncle Dal to be unimpressed.

"And you Michael, you were party to this fiasco? You should have stopped him."

"Well I—"

"It's my fault Uncle Dal." Michael scowls at me for cutting him off. "He was the voice of reason, I coerced him."

"Michael has every means to stop you—he _let_ himself be mesmerized by the Dean eyes. Not really sure what to do with you Michael. You need to call Cas anyway, tell him what happened and see what he says. He'll know better than I in this situation."

Michael looks horrified. For an angel, that's something. "Yes, sir."

"Dean, go to your room. We're having a chat, soon as I 'round up the rest of y'all goofy teens."

I kick the ground. "Yes, Uncle Dal."

WW

If I live through this, I'm going to kill Dean. I go back to the room I had Dallas Jr. in, shut the door and dial Papa Winchester. Why the fuck are my hands shaking? He's just a human.

_Maybe because I know that of anyone, he's the one who can actually take Dean away from me at anytime._

He answers right away, as if he'd been sitting there, waiting for me to call. "Hello Michael," he says in that voice of his, the one that implies how much he'd like to eviscerate me my vessel. It's bad enough when there's no reason for him to want to kill me, but this time, I have something to hand him on a silver platter.

"I was told to call you. Is this a bad time? I'm happy to call later, sir."

"Now is fine, though I would have appreciated you calling me as soon as you were told to."

I don't bother giving excuses as to why I didn't. Besides, I don't have any and _you're terrifying,_ wouldn't likely be accepted by him.

"I'm sorry, sir."

I don't get a 'you're forgiven' like Dean does. "Moving on; Dean needs a spanking. I can tell he's out of sorts, since I can't do it, you're my first choice in this particular instance, but if you feel uncomfortable in Nana Colt's home, I'll get Dallas or Sam to do it."

What? I couldn't have heard him right. I think I'm having what humans call a heart attack. _I'm_ his first choice and he's giving me _permission,_ no, he's _ordering_ me to spank Dean? For a moment, I feel like I've made it. I've spent twenty-five years trying to earn his respect, this is the first time, _ever,_ that I'm getting somewhere and now I've got to tell him how I've fucked it all up.

"Michael?"

"I'm here, sir, I…Dallas is spanking him now, I…" I launch into my story, the one of my colossal Top failure, practically hyperventilating by the end of it. I don't apologize. I've already made other mistakes with Dean I've apologized for. Castiel hates hearing apologies over the same thing over and over. He says my apologies are wasted on him and should be for Dean, because it's Dean who suffers when I'm negligent. I whole heartedly agree.

I get as expected. "I'm disappointed to say the least, but I think you know that."

"Yes. I knew you would be, sir."

"If you knew, then why do it? I'm allowing you to look after my son in a very special way. You have responsibility to him, you can't fuck up like this Michael. He loves you, that's why I allow this; you're certainly not my choice. Never-the-less, if after all my tutelage, it still isn't enough, I won't allow this further. You know Dean won't continue to see you in this capacity without my approval."

I didn't used to think so, but I've come to learn the truth of that statement. Dean won't. The bond he has with his parents is unlike any I've ever seen in all my time. Sure he gets upset with them at times (which practically kills him), sure they've had fights (in which I have to console him for days after), but none of that affects their profound bond. If Castiel tells Dean and Sam he doesn't approve of me, I'm out as Dean's significant other.

I'm fairly certain I've at minimum secured a spot in their home, permanently, but not as Dean's husband. Dean won't marry me if his father says no. It's just the way it is. I have to win over Castiel Winchester, or my 'plans' won't matter.

"Do we understand each other, Michael?"

"I can do better, sir. I will. I swear." Fuck. Fuck. I'm fucking crying. Damn human emotions. I've been too long without all my grace. I really am turning human. This is bad, really bad. All Papa Winchester's going to see, is a weak fucking, crying angel that can't properly care for his son.

There's silence on the other end for several of my vessel's heartbeats, then the sound of a palm slapping wood hard on the other end. "You're not usually soft like this Michael. What the hell's going on with you?"

I'm not allowed to hide anything from him. I've agreed to full exposure for our topversations. Excluding of course, things to do with my father that I really _can't_ speak of. This is not something he'd allow me to hide. "A couple things."

"Out with it. I don't have all day."

"The plane. I don't know why, but I've been feeling especially out of sorts since after that. It didn't start there, but that's part of it."

"You didn't help Dean. Sam did. You don't feel like his top."

"But we've already talked about that and I understand; sometimes Dean will need someone other than me. I'm okay with that Mr. Winchester, sir."

"Consciously, you're okay with it and can understand the logic, but there's a deeper need, a deeper part of your psyche isn't. You two need to re-establish your roles, that's all. I suggest you spank him anyway, even if he's already being spanked by Dallas."

"Yes, sir." I was feeling that, but I wasn't sure. He hadn't really broken any rules, but I did sense we needed to re-establish our roles. I'm secretly proud of myself for that much.

"What else? You said there was something even before the plane."

This is the one I really don't want to tell him. I take a deep human breath. "Since I knew about the trip, I've been looking forward to…not being an asshole to him. My father doesn't have as many eyes here, there's more opportunity to—"

"Let him do what he wants?"

"Not exactly, I'd never allow him to put himself in danger." Ergo, I wasn't planning on allowing him to go anywhere without me, but I saw no reason for him not to do whatever he wanted, so long as I was there to ensure he was safe.

"Dean doesn't work that way Michael. You know that. He craves structure, he doesn't do well without it, even Dean's well aware. If you can't give that to him, twenty-four-seven, this won't work Michael. And as I've been trying to drill through your thick angel skull, there's a difference between being a strict disciplinarian and being an asshole. My son knows the difference. It would never work for you anyway, Michael. From one top personality to another, you need the control, you need the structure too. Sam and I have been down the road of denying who we are. It doesn't work and leads to more heartache."

"Yes, sir." I'm still fucking sniffling. I can't stop, it's ridiculous. Aside from my snivelling, I know Papa Winchester is right. I'm an angel and angels are extremely territorial. Many things would be terrible for Dean and I, if we didn't have the structure we're currently building. I just want him to love me better than that ridiculously good looking football player who shall not be named. This is my only opportunity to bribe him.

"In fact, the strict disciplinarian side, is about the only thing you do right for him. Don't fuck it up, Michael." He's breathing hard now; he has to take a couple more breaths to calm down. "I suppose another way to say that is, well done, son."

I'm cleaning out my ears after this. They can't be working right. "Thank you sir. I don't deserve it, but thank you."

"Loving him and not being an asshole, doesn't mean letting him have his way, he needs rules. Otherwise, Dean must think I hate him."

I know that's not true. Dean's never doubted how much his parents love him. "Yes, sir." I wish I could stop fucking sniffling, at least 'till this conversation's over, but doesn't look like there's any hope of that.

Papa Winchester huffs. "Perhaps I'm still thinking of you as you used to be. My son has been much happier of late. You've still got much to learn, but it's clear you're keen to work on the areas in which you need to improve."

"I really am, sir. He means a great deal to me."

"I know, Michael. You wouldn't be here otherwise. I've got to go. I have another meeting to head into."

"Yes, sir, but sir? Don't I need to be punished?"

"That's not the way it works, Michael. Not unless you and Dean marry. I've only requested and gained your permission to punish you if you skip Sunday dinner without good reason. You've extended your permission in a few other instances as well, but not for this."

That's how I know I'm still an outsider to Papa Winchester. Daddy Winchester has no problems sending me to sit on a set of stairs, like I'm…well like I'm his own. With Castiel, I'm the pain-in-the-ass angel his son decided to fall in love with, who he puts up with. I know how my human family works, not disciplining me is the equivalent of not giving me the time of day. "I give my permission, sir. I'll do as you say."

"I think we can both safely say you'll punish yourself amply after this discussion."

He's right, of course he's right. Annoyingly, the man is almost always right, but I can't help feeling, disappointed. "Yes, sir."

"I want you to call me tomorrow evening."

That makes me feel a bit better; perhaps that's my punishment. "Yes, sir."

WW

Uncle Dal finally knocks on my door, entering when I give him the okay. "Uncle Dal, I'm sorry," I say soon as he walks in.

"I know half-pint. I forgive you. I'm not mad."

Yeah, just fucking disappointed, which is worse. "It was dumb to think we could leave tonight when the family gathering is a little more 'special' than usual. I hope you told those goofy teens good, Uncle Dal."

That works as planned; he smiles warmly. "I did and now I'm gonna tell you. Drop your drawers, Sur."

"Hey! Why am I the only one getting spanked?"

"Easy. Because I love you the most."

"You know Uncle Dal, you're supposed to love all your nieces and nephews equally."

"That so? Someone should sue me then, 'cause I don't. I love you more half-pint. Sorry, just the way it is."

"I'll tell them," I threaten. "I'll tell them you love me best."

"Then I'll tell'em you're just sore over me tanning your hide and makin' stuff up," he smiles.

"Man. This isn't fair, Uncle Dal."

"C'mon half-pint. You need this anyway. I'm just killing two birds with one stone. I was gonna give you a spanking when you woke up, I should have done, but I was giving Michael the chance."

"Sounds good to me, Uncle Dal. I swear I'll get Michael to do it." Uncle Dal spanks hard. He's real gentle, until he thinks you're in need of discipline, then he does a thorough job. Not that Michael spankings are any less thorough, but he's not in front of me right now, I'll worry about arguing my way out of that one later.

"Nope. Ship, sailed. I'm doing it."

"Fine," I sass. "But this is stupid and unfair, Uncle Dal."

"Noted. You know Dean, I'm sure I can use all this time you're spending stalling to find myself one of Nana's sturdy wooden spoons, especially if you wanna keep giving me attitude like that."

Nope. No. Don't want him to find one of those. In short order, I drop my shorts, but leave my boxers. There's always the off chance he'll leave them. He sits on the bed. "Those too, hurry up."

I said _off_ chance. Uncle Dal isn't the same every time. I kinda know what to expect from Daddy and Papa, but Uncle Dal, in true Uncle Dal style, goes with the flow. Until you're over his knee that is. Then it's sure, hard spanks and you wish he'd let up for just a fucking second.

I lose the boxers and he guides me carefully over his lap. When I instantly feel secure, I know he was right; I do need this. The tops in my family always seem to know. Always fucking know. _Didn't Michael?_ I mean, he mentioned something about spanking me, but didn't follow through, so I thought he was just joking around like he does sometimes.

I start to feel that place inside me calm, even though my bare ass is nervously awaiting a spanking. Then he starts. It's two right, two left, two right, two left. I'm already wincing and grabbing onto the cuff of the leg of his jeans early on. The sting builds to that slightly unbearable point, the point where I get tears. Like clockwork, I also start thinking about the reason I'm here, what earned me this spanking in the first place along with Uncle Dal's disappointment…me letting him down.

Then there's the airplane. All those feelings resurface; the fear and anxiety. All the while, Uncle Dally spanks, knowing he's getting through without words this time and knowing to just leave me with the feelings as he takes care of spanking them all away.

When he's done, even though my ass fucking hurts, I feel like a million bucks. Most days, I couldn't tell you why spanking works for me, just that it does. Doesn't mean I don't try to talk my way out of it, which is why I still need someone, reminding me how much I need this.

He helps me fix my clothes as I wipe my eyes. "You know, half-pint, I meant what I said. I know it ain't right, but I do love you best. You're more than just a nephew, you feel like my own, which is why I want you to be the first to know, I'm not marrying Axl."

"You're not?" I can't help fucking smiling.

"Nope. It ain't right. My heart's always really belonged to one person. I love Axl, but your uncle Chris owns my soul. I can't marry Axl while I still feel like that. I plan on talking to Chris like your Papa said to, get closure, then get over him like I should have done before moving onto something like marriage."

It's really hard, but I don't let on about the other proposal coming his way. "Sounds like a good plan Uncle Dal."

"So long as I got you in my life Half-pint, that's more than enough good things for me."

He doesn't even sound sad saying it, he's being honest and while I'm touched, I'm sad for him. He doesn't believe there's anything for him beyond Uncle Chris, which he believes he's not getting. I squeeze him tight. "I love you tons Uncle Dal. You know you're my favorite too right?"

He laughs, hugging me just as tight. "Love you too, Dean. Be a good boy now, y'hear?"

"I will. Promise."

"Yeah, 'till the next time," he teases.

"I gotta keep ya'll on yer toes," I say mimicking his accent, thick as I can. "I've got three of you."

"Yeah," he smiles even wider. "You sure do."


	25. To Be a Fly on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Sam talk about sex... What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't supposed to write this, didn't want to, so you have Michael to thank--he wanted this. It's sort of a strange chapter to me, but I get it now (and fingers crossed y'all do too). I had entirely something different planned. Many paragraphs have had several rewrites and I'm not sure if I've quite got it yet--trouble is, there are a few themes better developed over a storyline. *sigh* Anyway, I sincerely hope it makes enough sense for now.
> 
> Reminder: We are still on the day the gang arrived in Texas. Because I don't yet have a Mock Clone, I'm slow and much time has passed for us in RL, so this day will seem to take forever to pass, but hardly any time has passed at all. Therefore, no Papa yet (though his presence is always felt) but this means no Brad either, so that's good right?

"Where do you think you're going, half-pint?"

"To find Michael. He wouldn't head outside without me." Where else? Uncle Dal knows well enough by now we're attached at the hip when he's around.

"Did that spanking mean nothing to you? Maybe I shoulda lectured."

Oh it did mean something all right. Sitting is not going to be fun after that spanking. He's gotten way too good at that and I'm sure it's all Uncle Chris's fault. "It did, sir. I'm supposed to be visiting and behaving. Got that. We'll come right out, swear it," I say, trying to be cute, letting some drawl slip in. My accent doesn't go as deep as the rest of my family's can, but I've learned how to do it over the years well enough.

It works. I get a smile. "Go on then. I expect you both in the backyard, promptly."

"Yes, Uncle Dal."

Soon as I'm out of his eyesight, I rub my ass good and head off in search of Michael. I don't have to look far, we nearly collide as I'm about to head down the stairs.

"Dean. Good. Come with me."

"What? We can't. I'm going to get killed. _Again._ We're supposed to head downstairs."

He pauses, stands taller, reaches to straighten his jacket out of habit, the one that's not there, his hands falter a bit when he realizes he's only in a t-shirt, then drop back to his sides, fists squeeze for half a moment. My heart beats faster, as he rakes over me with cold blue eyes. "Fine, but we have an appointment before bedtime."

An excited rush flows through me. "What?" That sounds like a spanking to me. "I was already spanked, Michael." It's a perfunctory complaint. There's a warm feeling in my belly, saying it's happy Michael's _finally_ being Michael. I've been feeling weird since the plane. Uncle Dal's spanking helped a ton, loathe as I am to admit it, it made me see clearly. At the end of that tunnel was me wondering why Michael hadn't stepped up to the plate. Uncle Dal had expected it too. Clearly Papa knocked some sense into him. To have been a fly on that wall…

"Not by me," he says taking my hand. Some decision is made; it's written on his prominent cheek bones. "Fuck it."

Those are the last two words that have meaning for a while. Michael grabs me by the shirt collar; spin, then slam into the wall. He's aggressive when his lips press to mine, needy, needs me, need him. I kiss back with force, hoping to fuck, everyone is having such a good time outside, they don't come up here. I grab his face, he lifts my legs to wrap around his torso. He slams me a second time, still kissing, one arm holding a leg, the other palm flat against the wall by my ear, pressing me into the wall. My breath quickens, even Michael's panting. "Dean, I… need… you..." Each word trails off, each breathy, staring in my eyes like he's a rock; immovable.

I think we're going to fuck right here. I'm ready to. Don't care. I'll sell my soul for his cock right now.

"See! I knew kissing was grown up stuff!"

Michael and I pull away like we're pythons the other is trying to avoid getting bit by. "What are you doing up here Ansel?" I ask.

"Washroom. All the downstairs are full. I saw you kissing," she sing-songs.

"Fuck, Ansel—"

"Dean said a swear word." More sing-songing.

This is not happening. "Ansel, sweetie…ugh, what do you want for your silence?"

She's well versed in Colt rules. I don't think there's an official 'no kissing in the hallways,' but I'm sure Daddy wouldn't like the _way_ we were just kissing and that's what matters, but there is a firm no cursing rule issued by Nana. "Fifty bucks."

Easy. I pull out my wallet. "I thought you'd say you'd want to hang out with the big kids."

"Over cold hard cash? Y'all aren't that worth hanging with. Allowance is hard to come by when you're nine, I want a new bike."

I slap a fifty in her hand and she scampers off to the little girl's room. "Fucking con-artist," I say to Michael.

"No, no. I like her. Nothing wrong with being resourceful." _He would._ He's entertained that I had to pay off a nine-year-old to stay out of trouble.

I'm still a bit dazed by that kiss, even with having to think fast and bribe my little cousin. Michael has to grab my hand and tug to start me down the stairs. I touch my lips as we move, still hot from his kiss. "What was that for?"

"If you don't know, maybe you should get your money back," he smirks.

**

Michael slips on a pair of comfortable looking sandals as I'm about to slide into my sticky runners. "Hey! If you're wearing those, so am I."

"You can shelve that idea, forever. No. Besides, I don't trip in them."

"You don't wear sandals often enough to know," I say even thought I know it's true. He's an angel. Practically perfect in everyway.

"I would prefer my shoes, but Nana Colt told me to wear these. I'm merely being respectful."

Hmmm. He's right. If she did give him those, she'll wonder why he's not wearing them and I'm able to see the humor in Michael wearing sandals even though I know he's not going to afford me the same luxury, too concerned about my safety. I laugh at him.

"Be quiet about it and you may go barefoot."

"Really?" I love not wearing shoes. It's a pretty big concession for Michael with his OCD over me getting dirty.

"Really." He smiles at my smile.

"Shutting up, sir." I ditch my runners.

The Colt backyard is booming. People are happy to see us, even the cool teen crowd, despite me being the catalyst that axed their event. They told me they should have expected it. They're used to this kind of thing all the time, so it's normally not a big deal for them to leave. Today's special.

In the end, I'm glad I didn't miss dinner. Nana's special recipe BBQ ribs are on the menu, along with her cornbread. You never want to miss that. No beer though. I know Daddy's got his eye on me, no matter how many babies he's holding; there's only one 'baby' he's most concerned with.

Michael has a beer though. That's normal. What's not normal is what's on the back of my neck: his hand. In fact, he's made sure to have a hand touching me somewhere the whole time. Right now though, it's heavy on the back of my neck, as we sit on a picnic bench with some of my cousins. It's down right possessive, which is strange for two reasons. We are among my family (no need to mark his territory here) and two, he doesn't do stuff like that. When I was little, we held hands a lot Daddy said, but it was like, you know, crossing the street and stuff, I think. Like a caretaker.

This is nothing like that. _Mine._ That's what the gesture says. I’m freaked out and calmed at the same time. I love it. _At last._ The feel of being _his._ But I'm not his, not in the way I'd like to be. I pretend again, like before. What if this could be? and relax into his firmness. I smile and mold to him, like Daddy would to Papa and let go.

His hand slides down to the small of my back and Michael brings his head in for a chaste, family-barbeque-appropriate, kiss to my lips; we eat messy ribs. Well, I eat messy ribs, while Michael picks at his trying not to get dirty and using a knife and fork rather than just his hands like me.

"So Dean, you started to think about college yet?" Sammy junior, junior. asks, blinking hard hazel eyes at me. Sammy is Auntie Georgia's first born and was given the family name with Daddy's permission. Twenty-nine. Actually, he's first born grandchild on the Colt side and has earned the honor of his namesake, most especially in the case of Daddy. In a family this large, everyone's expected to help out. Being at the top of the chain, you end up helping more than young'ens like me ever have, though I certainly do my share while I'm here. He's a lot like Daddy and feels more like an Uncle than a cousin. He's a bit edgier than Daddy, especially with the messier way he keeps his long hair. Makes you want to call him, sir. 'Cept, he's a lot more Coltish than Daddy. I think it's because Daddy had a true care taking role, he genuinely was in charge. Sammy was often 'in charge' of us, but plenty of other adults were around to help him.

The question's a bit like being dunked into cold water. In a house like mine, of course it's been talked about, but it's always felt like something far away, like when a grownup asks you, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and you answer with 'Space Cowboy,' right away thinking you've got plenty of time to change that to Optimus Prime if you want to. But the way Sammy asks, it's like it's going to happen tomorrow. I fumble. "Uh, yes, sir."

He laughs like Uncle Dal and Granddaddy, amused. "No need to skitter like a rabbit. I'm just askin'."

Michael feels hard beside me. He's been there for the talks, but he usually doesn't have a lot to say on the matter. Especially since Papa dominates that conversation. Daddy is supportive, but I don't think he likes the thought either. "Papa wants me to go to College, but he said I could pick the school, uh, with his approval."

"You sound _reeeal_ excited," he drawls.

Fuck. I don't want to leave home, okay? But I can't say that to people. How much of a wimp would I sound like? I'm supposed to look forward to getting drunk in my dorm. "It's a ways a way, Sammy. That's all."

"Don't you graduate next year?"

"Yeah, but it's not like they're gonna let a kid into college." Actually, I know I'm not so far off 'college age,' I'm sure I'm admissible, but I wish I weren't. 

"Doogie Howser went to college early," Michael points out sarcastically.

It makes me laugh, which was the point. "I'm sure they love it when people reference _that_ fictional character during admissions."

Sammy's analyzing me in a way I'm used to. He's dead ringer for Daddy mixed with Uncle Dal, another Granddaddy type look-a-like to add to the mix. The Colt genes runs strong. "You don't think you're gonna pass and be told you're eighteen."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "No."

"You hope you don't pass."

Another non-question. "I… well that is…"

"Don't worry, cuz, your secret's safe with me."

Yeah, but not with Michael. "Thanks," I say. He didn't mean to hit a sore spot, it's a normal enough question. I'm sure other kids are apprehensive about going to college and I’m sure I'll be excited when the time comes. Super sure.

"In other news…" He continues on to tell me all the Colt cousin gossip. It's interesting how the Colt hierarchy works, so different from the Winchester Way. Best way I have to explain it, is like this. If we were in a nineteen fifties novel, and headed down to the creek to do something a bit wild, Sammy would be the one to warn us it was a bad idea, put a stop on our tom-foolery if it was really bad, or opt to come along if it was only mid-level bad, carrying the littlest one and fish us out of trouble when it inevitably happened. 

The gossip isn't too juicy this year and I'm not allowed to say a word about Uncle Dal, but… "My uncle Chris is gonna ask Uncle Dal to marry him." I know he'll keep that kind of info just between the cousins, we have a code.

Michael looks like he wants to pulverize me. "That so? Well it's about time." I tell him a few of the details, the ones that won't get me into too much trouble. We chat a bit more, until he moves off to find another beer.

"What the fuck was that?" Michael hisses when he's gone.

"Don't worry. It's Colt code. It'll just stay between the cousins. Believe me, there are still some things we never want the adults finding out." And I told Michael that why?

I didn't think it was possible for his eyes to go that shade of midnight blue. "It's just as I've always suspected. Colt insanity. Well, they'll be none of that on my watch."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, Michael. Jeez. But could you just trust me a little with my family?"

"I trust you with no one."

I nudge him. "I'm not going to do anything dangerous. It's all harmless fun. Besides, this year I have my fearless protector."

"Flattery doesn't work here. You aren't going to do anything dangerous, believe me. I have nothing better to do while I'm here, other than watch your every move."

"You're gonna watch my every move, huh?" I say hooding my eyes, my breath quickening. We need to have sex before I explode.

I pull away from Michael when Daddy sits down. He's got little June or May with him. It's hard to tell which. "How you feeling Dean Bean?"

"I'm good Daddy. Inhaled at least ten ribs." Sometimes he gages how well I am on how much I eat. "Planning on seconds and thirds."

"Okay, just take it easy. And Michael, make sure he eats something with green in it, please. You can't just eat ribs and cornbread, Sur." He bounces and coos at the baby.

"Yes, sir," Michael says.

"Aren't you gonna eat, Daddy?"

"What? Oh yeah sure. Just visiting a bit first."

Little seven-year-old Thomas, runs up to Daddy. He's a thin, wirey little guy with dusty blonde hair and much less gull than his older sister, Ansel. "Uncle Sammy! Uncle Sammy! Can you come watch my trick?" Everyone loves 'Uncle Sammy.' Apparently, I used to get jealous.

He grabs Daddy by the hand. "Of course I can. Dean," he says meaning he's got an eye on me, but who has their eye on Daddy?

"He's not going to eat is he?" I say to Michael.

"Not likely."

"I'm almost done here. I'll go make him a plate, you snatch the baby?"

Michael wrinkles his nose. "I'll get him the plate, you grab the baby. That one spits up."

**

We feed Daddy Winchester. Dean takes the baby and like most babies, she's bored in one spot and he has to walk around with her. He bounces off with her and I'm alone with Daddy Winchester, just as I'd hoped.

"Something on your mind, Michael?"

Where do I begin? "Yes, sir. I spoke with Mr. Winchester."

"What did Papa say?"

I feel the cheeks of my vessel blush. I know that was likely a slip up and not intended how it sounded. That's how he'd phrase the question to Dean. "You'll forgive me Mr. Winchester, this topic is, well it's uncomfortable to talk about with…"

"With a Daddy?" he teases. I blush further.

"With a parental figure, yes." I look down at my sandaled feet. Dean's kept his promise not to say anything, but every now and again, he looks at them, smirking then has to look away.

"Never-the-less, we must both get through it. C'mon, Sur."

I'm grabbed by the scruff of my neck, like a kitten; he drags me to the kitchen where there are far too many people, so we have to carry on to the vacated living room. "Sit, there," he says directing me to a chair.

I sit in the leather lazy boy, while he sits on the low couch and mimics what I imagine a giraffe would if one had walked into the living room to take a seat. His knees have to bend greater than ninety degrees, sharpening the creases of his jeans. He settles in with the plate of food I brought for him. "You talk, I'll eat, since you and Dean have taken it upon yourselves to feed me," he smiles, fondly entertained.

I wait 'till he takes a messy bite, before I begin. "I spoke with Mr. Winchester and he seems to think Dean and I need to… re-establish our connection."

"Dean needs a spanking? That's what you were worried over talking to me about? It's not like that's breaking news."

This was a mistake. "I'm glad we had this chat then." I move to stand.

"Sit your angel but back down. I'm not making fun, I was trying to put you at ease—clearly you're skittish, skittish as a bunny. Start talkin'."

Holy fuck, there really is two of him. Many of the Colts look alike. They've all got the strong genes of their parents running through. Jared from the terror twins, looks quite a bit like Sam for instance, but they're different. Jared is far more laid back. But Sammy the third, he's like Sam the second. A lot like Sam the second. A more rugged version, but it was curious to watch how many of Sam the second's (Granddaddy Colt being Samuel the first) mannerisms, Sam the third has. "But, can I really haul him over my knee in the middle of your parent's house?"

"I think Dean would appreciate it if you did that behind closed doors, but you shouldn't encounter any problems, if that's what you're worried about." He gives me a cheeky wink.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes I do, but it's not often I get to tease you. Okay, I'll be serious. This is a spanking house too, Michael. Not in the same way Cas and I are, but everyone here's had the taste of a good hiding for one reason or another."

"But I'm his—" Pause. "I'm not a parental figure."

"Mama was gonna put you two in the same room until I told her no."

 _To have been a fly on the wall when Papa Winchester found that out…_ I can't help my half-smile. "She's so _Christian_ though."

"Oh sure. Mama praises the good Lord and won't take his name in vain; heaven help you if you do on her watch, but her and Daddy are liberal in their views. It's a bit complicated, I guess, Cas has a hard time figuring out the logistics of her and Daddy's 'rules,' but let's just say _you_ and Dean don't have anything to worry about from her and Daddy. But for your information, Mama would be keeping a personal eye on Brad."

He raises his eyebrows like it should make sense, but it makes no fucking sense. The only thing that does make sense is that it's so like a Colt to not make any sense. "Then why don't you want us…" I trail off, expecting him to fill in the blanks. I feel uncomfortable enough in this conversation. I'm not using the word sex.

"That's my and Cas's rule. Perhaps even a bit more my rule. In my opinion, he's too young to be having sex in their house."

"What? But why should you care if your parents don't? Shouldn't you have the same rules as your parents?"

"Well sure, some. The ones we agree with. If you have kids, are you gonna use all your father's rules?" His voice is gentle, he knows that's a hard topic, one only reserved for particular times, but his eyes are hard. He knows my answer, but he's also driving a point home.

"I understand, sir. Your rules differ from your parent's."

"And yours and Dean's will differ from ours. That's how it goes Michael. Often families will carry core values down generation to generation, but the rules always change. Each person's view on teaching that value will vary and it depends on the child too. My rule is based on Dean specifically. He could do to learn a little respect in that area Michael. I'm seizing a learning opportunity."

This is the most bizarre conversation I've ever had with the man and we've had many bizarre conversations. "Just to clarify, I can spank Dean?"

"Yes, but it was right of you to ask me. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sounds like Cas already gave you his permission, but we haven't had time to talk about it. That's something I want to know, so it's good you gave me the head's up. Otherwise, I might think you're—"

"Okay. Okay. Can this conversation please be over?" He's entirely too comfortable discussing such matters.

"Over. Was it helpful?"

"Yes."

"No regrets then. Spank my son when you see fit; the spanking is necessary. The sex is not—you can masturbate. I catch you having sex, I'll castrate you both. Understand?"

I not sure he means that for just here. Dean and I have been a little too lax in that tree house of his. "I understand, sir." Except I don't. Okay, conversation not over. "Actually, I don't. I understand the whole respect for elders thing, but I don't understand why sex is disrespectful. I was under the impression it was normal for humans, especially teenage male humans."

He heaves a huge sigh. "It must seem that way to an angel, but isn't there something more you feel when you're having sex with my son?"

I'm frozen. There's no way I'm fucking answering that.

"Calm down, Sugar. I know you're having sex with my horny, teenage son."

He's still not getting an answer from me. Of course there are things I feel with Dean and no one else, but I'm not sharing.

"I know you feel something when you—"

"I do, okay? I do. I don't like thinking about what I feel if you want the truth," I snap then remember myself. "I'm sorry Mr. Winchester, that was out of line."

"It's okay Michael. I'm honestly glad sex with my son inspires that kind of passion; makes me feel better about the whole thing. But why don't you like thinking about it?"

Again, I can't answer him. How does he expect me to have a conversation with him about fucking his son? Right. That's because they're (the both of them) ridiculously open about this stuff.

He taps his sandaled foot on the ground deciphering it for himself. "Lordy Bee, Michael. Don't tell me I have another Castiel Winchester on my hands, because let me tell you, I straightened him out and I will you too, only now I know what I'm doing."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, this is gonna make you real uncomfortable, Sur, but I'm saying it. The biggest challenge in our relationship was Cas's inability to accept who he is. He's controlling, he's possessive, he likes telling me what to do."

Angels don't fiddle, but I'm fiddling with the hem of my soft t-shirt.

"Our rules don't just make me feel safe, they make him feel safe too. We love our relationship, want it, but 'society' doesn't approve. We're all told, be who we are inside, do what makes you happy, but the qualifier is, so long as it's not the behaviors the 'mysterious we' has gotten together and decided to ban. Has decided are always wrong. By Cas's very nature, society would cast him aside as an abusive so and so. I hate that Michael. I hate it so much. Because facts are the facts. He's possessive and controlling, that's just him. Always has been and I hope always will be. He left me once because he knew who he was and stupidly thought he was protecting me in leaving me. Society says he's bad and wrong, better he just stays away from me, so he did. It practically ruined me Michael. I'm not letting you do that do Dean. You just get comfortable with the feelings you have, the possessive ones I know you have for my son, because you're not leaving him Michael."

"We share a profound bond. I couldn't leave him if I wanted to and I don't. You'll be pleased to know I'm too selfish to leave Dean. Besides, then he'd simply be in the hands of mere humans, as if I'd allow that."

He calms down and smiles. What happened between him and Papa Winchester must have really cut him deeply. "Well get used to what you feel for him. I'll know if you're not doing right by him—leave that to me if you're doubtful. It's been twenty-five years and I haven't seen it yet. Sure you two have had your challenges, but it's never been anything unfixable. And do you think Cas would let you near him if he thought you were abusing Dean?"

"No, sir." That does ease my ever expanding human conscious some; he notices and takes it a bit further. Especially since the angel in me is often uncontrollable, relentless, in what it would like to exact from my relationship with Dean.

"I also have it on good authority that Cas doesn't like a certain, perfect football player."

"What? _He_ doesn't get critiqued every five seconds and Mr. Winchester is always so bloody nice to him." I want to pulverize that giant meathead.

"Excuse me, Sur?"

"Sorry about my language, but it isn't fair." Great. Now I sound like a sulky teen.

"Brad is not what Cas is looking for, for Dean. But he is spending an awful lot of time with you, don't you think?"

"Too much if you ask me."

Daddy Winchester laughs. "Face it, honey, y'all are two peas in a pod. That's why you butt heads. That and you might take his little boy away from him one day."

He says that like he knows something, which frightens me. If he can figure me out then so can my father. "You know that can never happen," I say firmly.

"Aw sweetie, it all ready has happened."

Has it?

"We're far away from Kansas, to summarize, Dean wants to make adult decisions, but he isn't an adult yet. Having sex at your nan's house is entirely too grown up. If you don't get it put like that, I'm going to have to resort to the 'you'll understand if you become a parent' line. I'm just trying to be a good parent, teach him good life lessons and values."

"You are a good parent, sir. Dean has learned much from you both, he's said so. I know he's appreciative."

"And maybe you too?"

"And maybe me too." I give a shy smile that could be considered fond.

He beams. "I don't know how appreciative my son's gonna be after four weeks, not having his usual places to hide and have sex. Like your apartment for instance."

I can't look at him. _Can't look at him._ I stare at the bare toes of my feet.

"But where there's a will there's a way and my son definitely has will. Just don't let me catch you, and don't do it here, or I'm spanking you both."

I look up just in time to see him wink. I think… I think… Daddy Winchester manipulated this. Dean's going to be so focused on trying to have sex with me, due to the tighter reigns on where he can have sex, he'll forget about having sex with anyone else…like Brad for instance, once again demonstrating his vote for Team Michael and Dean. "Papa Winchester won't even punish me when I want him to." I don't mean to say it.

"That's because Cas is too Winchester, strictly adhering to Winchester protocol. I'm part Colt—we have no such restrictions. Cross us and pay the price." He takes the final bite of his messy ribs. I like the taste of those things, but I hate watching people eat them. Especially Dean. I wish I could bib him when he does.

I know the truth of the last part of what he's said, but I still don't know if the first part applies. I did give him my permission. I know Winchester protocol. It's the Colt protocol I find harder to understand. I don't know that they have one, exactly. If they do, it's in a language only they can understand.

Daddy Winchester's studying me, his eyes pop wide. "Did you give him your permission?"

How did he figure that out? "Well, many times I thought. It's not like he's ever had a problem telling me what to do. I've always obeyed him to the letter anyway." The last bit might be an exaggeration. I can already bring to mind a few times we've argued and I've been sent home, thus having to endure the humiliation of groveling so he'll let me back in the house.

Daddy Winchester raises his brow, likely remembering too, but he lets it go more concerned about my admission. "That was a mistake Michael. You should have talked to me first. And no, you haven't. Not verbally, or in a manner straight forward enough for Cas." He shakes his head. "That's a big chess move in Winchesterland. A big one. Normally that happens after marriage, but Cas is operating under the parameters of the relationship you and Dean defined for him."

_A concession, I'm only just beginning to grasp the magnitude of._

"If I know Cas, and I do, he'll move ahead. Congratulations Michael. You've taken the next step to becoming Winchester. I hope you're ready to handle that. He's going to be hard on you."

Fuck. "He already _is_ hard on me."

"Naw. That was Cas holding back."

Fuck. Fuck me. "I'll take it back then." I can't even hide the panic in my voice.

"Of course you can, but understand what that will mean."

I know enough to figure that out. It's the fastest way to discredit myself. "What do I do?"

"Don't fudge up."

"That's it? That's all you have for me, you're supposed to be the supportive one."

He laughs and sets his empty plate down on the coffee table, reaching for a few Kleenexes to wipe his hands with. I hope he plans on washing them too. That's when Dean bursts through the door with his baby cousin. Because he's walking in backward, so he can swing open the Kitchen's saloon door with his ass, he only sees me in the room and starts talking before he sees his Daddy. "Jeez, there you are Michael. I said feed him, not take a break from the may-h-hey Daddy!"

"It's okay Dean bean. Soon as I saw Michael with a plate, I knew it had you written all over it. And y'all say I'm the Mama hen."

"Someone has to look after you while Papa's away."

"Thanks baby boy," he says getting up, bringing his plate with him. "I'm going to go wash my hands," he says to me.

_Thankfully._

"You two okay with her?"

"We're fine Daddy. Go. I'm pretty sure Michael said he wanted a turn."

Sam leaves just as Dean shoves the baby at me and she promptly spits up on the shirt I was given. He then hands me the receiving blanket he should have given me in the first place. I glare at him. "I thought it was only newborns with such a capacity for vomit."

"What do you know about newborns?"

"Nothing."

He shakes his head. "She's got a not so nice tummy. Don't you June bug?"

I roll my eyes at the nickname. He laughs.

"I'm gunna go to take a leak and rub something on my ass. Uncle Dal spanks like forest fire."

"You'd better add extra. I've still got to have my turn later."

I expect him to complain, considering his response earlier, but he doesn't. He smiles dreamily. "No witty rejoinder?" I ask.

He blushes. "I…I want you to Michael. Well, I mean I don't actually want a spanking, that's the weird part, but I want _you_ to all the same. I just… don't always know how to ask. I thought…" he heaves a relaxed sigh. "I thought you forgot about me."

"Forgot about you? That's absurd."

"I know it is. It's like saying you forgot you lived on Earth, but that's how it felt. I was wondering why Uncle Dal was taking your place."

I'm stunned as he kisses me. He's not making any sense. "I'm likely to kick and whine later, but right now I'm just happy to hear it for some reason."

Papa Winchester was right. Again.

"What were you and Daddy talking about?"

"Sex."

"Ew. With Daddy?"

"It was awful. He made me."

"Ugh, I'm sorry. But to have been a fly on the wall… What did he, uh, say?"

"He was issuing another reminder, that if he catches us having sex in this house, we'll both have an appointment with whoever does castrations."

Dean shudders. "Fuck that sucks. My balls are blue, Michael. I'm not going to last much longer."

"Guess we'll have to get creative."

"Oh, I like that. Might be more fun."

I decide to tell him something else too. I hope he'll get its meaning. "I gave your father permission to punish me, as he would any other member of the family when I spoke with him earlier."

"Yeah, I know. You've done that a few times now."

"That's what I thought too, but I've been corrected. Those were for specific things. This is different."

He laughs at me. "That was dumb dude. He's going to smoosh you into potions ingredients."

He still doesn't get it. I give up. "You do not get to make Harry Potter jokes," I say rearranging June. "Not after your commentary during the last movie."

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Go pee, Winchester."

"I'll take that as a no," he says heading toward the stairs.

"Wait. Come back here."

Uncharacteristically obedient, he does. "Yeah?"

He stares with big green eyes. My whole world is in those green eyes. I pull him in gently by the back of his neck for a soft, claiming kiss. "Not fair," he says when we part. "You got that one for free."

Outwardly, I laugh with him at our new inside joke, but inside I think, _If only he knew how much I pay for every moment I'm with him._ It's worth it though. Completely worth it.


	26. In Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't mob and pitchfork me for not updating BDD! That one is next, chapter already started, I swear it, or my name isn't Mock!
> 
> But this story just wants to be written; I'm just its lowly slave. There are scenes I've been wanting to get to in this story for about 6 months! And it's killing me. Please forgive me. 
> 
> I have a direct quote in here from Step Brothers, don't know how it works on here for quoting, but let's just say the funny line about dinosaurs is not mine. I'm too lazy to quote it properly.
> 
> Last, this chapter is 9K long. You might want to cozy in.

"Okay, time to come with me, Sur. Bedtime."

Bedtime? _Bedtime?_ Are you out of your freaking mind, Daddy? That's what I want to say, but with the look he's giving me, I know he's on a mission not to be dissuaded. Plus, he's got his accomplices, Uncle Dal and Michael. I'm ganged up on. So not fair.

Uncle Dal's carrying a bowl of something, Michael's got a First Aid Kit and Daddy's got a steaming ceramic mug—there could be any one of Dr. Shaggy's remedies in there. The party's still going. Those with smaller kids left hours ago, but that doesn't make much of a dent in the Colts. I was finally catching up with the 'big kids,' but Daddy's ended that along with my reputation, I'm sure.

"You'd better go with him," Ricky whispers as if Daddy can't hear. "He's freakin' scary."

"Yeah. Thanks," I say letting Michael help pull me off the floor of the living room. Michael was stolen from me after dinner and passed around like a hot potato; his induction to the Colt family. I was worried about him at first, until I heard rumor he'd already been downstairs, without me. I decided that meant he could fend for himself, besides, I think my cousins have already learned to be leery of Michael, which they should. He'll totally rat us out to adults and if he hears what my cousins really get up to sometimes, I doubt he'll want me near them.

I'm a bit shocked when they bring me to Michael's room. "Sit on the bed there, baby. I want to take your temperature," Daddy says, placing the steaming mug down on the bedside table.

Ridiculous. I’m not sick. I'm _not_ sick. But once again, he determines my temperature to be in the 'bug-fighting-range,' whatever that is. "Okay, Dean. Shirt and pants off. Time for Nan's immune helper poultice."

"Aw Daddy, please, no poultices. They're so sticky and smelly." I complain, but I'm already taking my shirt off, it's a lost cause. Besides, Papa telling me not to give Daddy any trouble is firmly in my mind.

"Thank you." Uncle Dal holds out the bowl, as Daddy starts pasting me. It smells like eucalyptus, mixed with pee.

I know the drill well by now, so I cooperate, sticking my arms out in a 'T,' so he can get my sides, then standing, so he can get my back and finally back to seated for my front. I'm covered in the brown pasty stuff from the top of my chest to my belly button. It looks like Nana took chocolate and mixed it with honey, which would be fine if that's what it was (least it would taste good) but I know it's not. Not sure what this one is, but it's already heating up my skin. "There," Daddy says when he's done. He ushers Michael forward and takes the beginning of a thin, wide strip of white bandage and begins to wrap it around me. Michael acts as the ball of yarn, releasing bandage as needed. I feel like a mummy. He wraps me, not too tightly, but securely, until all the paste is covered. He hands me one of my t-shirts I use for sleeping, that someone (probably him) placed on Michael's bed. I put it on.

Next, he pulls a bottle of essential oils out of his pocket and kneels down at my feet, rubbing a few drops into each one; Uncle Dal follows with a sock onto each foot. "There's tea for you. Drink it, then bedtime. We'll have this bug kicked and you can enjoy the rest of your vacation, sweetheart." He kisses, my forehead. "Love you."

It's hard to be mad at him when I know he just cares a whole lot. "Thanks, Daddy. Love you too."

Next it's Uncle Dal. "Have sweet dreams half pint. Love you too." I get a kiss from him too.

"Love you, Uncle Dal."

Finally, it's just me and Michael. "The tea still needs to cool anyway. It can do that while you and I take care of your spanking."

"What? You're not really going to do that are you? I'm sick and wrapped in poultices and I've already had a spanking today."

"You're sick now are you? Shall I call Daddy Winchester back to change the immune helper poultice, to a virus attacking one?"

"Okay, no. I'm not sick. But I don't want a spanking. Why should I be spanked again?"

He pulls me up, sits in the place I was, then situates me between his legs. Like Pavlov's fucking dog, my cock hardens, just thinking of Michael's cock under that pile of holey jeans. Uh, no pun intended. "This isn't a punishment, Duck," he begins. "This is about you and me. My role and your role. Remembering that I'm here for you. I feel some of that has already been restored today, this is just to make sure. Go into my suitcase. Retrieve what's in the side pocket."

I do and pull out, "The paddle from your desk Michael?"

"No. What you're holding is a figment of your imagination. Bring it."

My ass cheeks tingle just looking at the thing. It's made of oak, so it's very sturdy. Least my ass thinks so. I hand it to him. "R-remember, Uncle D-dal already spanked me."

Michael looks concerned. He takes the paddle from me and places it on the bed beside him, pulling me between his thighs once again. "Duck, are you scared of me?"

"No. Course not. Don't be stupid."

"Then why are you stuttering?" he says angry. He thinks I'm lying. I am lying.

"Okay, a little. You haven't spanked me with that in awhile, I'm a bit nervous, but I know it's dumb."

"It's not dumb and you need to tell me." His voice is still hard.

"I know. I did."

"You almost didn’t. And you lied, duck. I'm sorry, I can't let that go."

"So this _will_ be a punishment spanking then?"

"Now you _are_ being stupid. We've lost more ground than I thought." He taps my ass with his pointer finger five times, thinking. "Lose these," he says referring to my boxers. "This still isn't a punishment spanking," he assures me.

I'm confused. So confused, but I pull my boxers off leaving my socks on and that brings to mind a thought. "Wait, Daddy and Uncle Dal knew you were going to do this, that's why I was brought in here."

"Your powers of derivation astound."

Michael's sarcasm puts me at ease. He inspects my ass. "Your cheeks are barely pink."

"I know. I'm not sore at all. It's irrational, like I said. You've spanked me with that thing plenty, I know it's nothing to be scared of."

"Exactly. Which is why I say you weren't scared of it, you were, are scared of me. I want to know why. Now Dean."

"I don't… You're different that's all."

"I need more than that. I don't have enough grace to read your mind."

"You've been different since this morning and I've been feeling it all day. Not in a bad way, in a good way actually—I really like it and I dunno, I guess subconsciously it feels like I'm re-getting to know you? Does that makes sense?"

"Perfect sense." He reaches a hand up to my face. "I'm always me though, Dean. I'm not something you ever have to be scared of." The, _but if anyone tries to harm you, they should be scared of me,_ is left unsaid, hanging in the air.

"Unless I get too much mud under my toenails," I tease. My feet were almost black when we came in from outside and Michael was horrified. Thankfully, he was dragged off by one of my older cousins, while I wisely sprinted to the bathroom and scrubbed them to death. When he was freed, he pulled me aside to inspect every toe nail.

"Dean."

"I get it Baby. I'm not scared of you. I swear."

His eyes still rake over me multiple times, until he's satisfied it's true. Then he guides me over his lap. The first spanks reawaken some of what Uncle Dal put there today, it hurts, but it's not more than I can handle and it doesn't last long. It's also enough to calm any nerves I had. I take a sharp inhale when I feel the soft wood rub against my ass. "Do you remember the first time I spanked you with this?"

"Yes, sir. I was being a super brat that day."

"That's an understatement. I gave you a good spanking that day and I thought maybe I'd gone too far. But I hadn't, had I?"

"No. I deserved every lick and I know it." I would never have admitted that at the time.

"You did and I was proud of you for taking each swat well. I was impressed."

"You were just happy because you realized I had a high spank threshold."

He taps the paddle menacingly, my cheeks quiver. "Thank you for reminding me. Perhaps I'll decide to lengthen this spanking instead of giving you the surprise I had planned."

"Surprise?"

"Surprise."

"I want the surprise."

"Behave yourself then. You ready?"

"Yes, Michael."

I don't get a number, but I don't need one. I'm completely calm now, over his lap, my peach-shaped ass glowing in the moonlight. All right, so there's not that much moonlight coming in the window, and the light's still on, but doesn't that paint a prettier picture?

It ends up being twenty. Twenty firm, solid Michael promises to my ass. Enough to bring the tears, but not sobs, enough to remind me to behave, enough to remind me he's always there. By the end, I get it. I really get it. Confusion, gone. Then he pulls me onto his lap, so my hot bottom can sit on top of his holey jeans, the leg hair from his vessel scratching, as he hands me the cooled tea and says to drink. He wipes my tears and asks me how I feel, I tell him good and kiss his lips.

"What's my surprise?" I ask as I sip.

"Shouldn't you be more worried about what your punishment for lying to me is?"

"Probably, but what is it? What's my surprise?"

"It's lines," he smiles wickedly.

"My surprise? That's a shitty surprise."

"No, your punishment."

"Aw c'mon. I just finished seven hundred lines for Papa."

"Then you're well conditioned for seven hundred more. Don't lie to me."

I nod, pouting into my mug, as his smooth voice coats me. I fucking hate lines. He's likely to be just as creative and lengthy, as Papa, but I can't help the comfort his boundaries bring. He leans in, changing his voice only slightly to say, "I want to spank you 'till you come. Can you handle that Duck?"

"Fuck yeah!" I guzzle the rest of my tea and slam it down on the night table. "How do you want me?"

"Same as before. I'm just giving you an innocent spanking. If you happen to come…"

"Gotcha."

"Wait. Put your boxers back on."

"Aye, aye Captain. Whatever you say." I do then jump over his lap, spreading my legs obscenely, rubbing my clothed dick into his thighs.

He pulls my boxers down from the back only, uncovering my ass, but leaving my front covered. "Your ass is so fucking sexy like this and I can't even fuck you. You should see the color."

"I'm so fucking horny Michael, can you just… just…" Slap! It's a decent slap to my right cheek, it hurts, but in more of a stingy way that gives me tingly goose bumps and it feels good. It's nowhere near a punishment spanking, or even a thinking spanking and even if it were, the mindset is different. I know this is fun. When you're being punished, you're thinking about what you did to end up over someone's lap, how you've disobeyed them, disappointed them.

All I'm thinking about right now is getting my rocks off. The other thing Michael does, is alternates each slap with rubbing. Warm, nice, delicious rubbing over each spank and the sensitive flesh from the work he did with his paddle.

The spanking seems to last awhile. I don't know how many times he's spanked me, lost track awhile ago, but I've reached a place where there's a bit of a buzz through my body. Spank then rub, spank, sting, ah then rub like that till I'm wriggling and reaching a crescendo.

He tugs my dick through my legs, moving the bead of pre-come around then back to spanking. My cheeks get warmer, redder, it stings more, hurts more, but I've reached a place where I want more. I tell Michael so (quietly) and he obliges. When I come, it's quiet, but large and into his lap, shielded by my boxers. I slump over him as he rubs my aching ass and plays with the come near my dick.

Picturing it is fucking hot. "What about you?" I say when I'm finally with it again.

He pulls me up, adjusts my boxers, wet, come soaked and smiles blissfully. "I've got a whole night ahead of me, a nearly photographic memory and the images of a gorgeous, red, wiggling bottom. I think I'll be fine."

**

I wake up tired and start to think Daddy might be right, maybe I am fighting a bug, but I'm not willing to admit defeat yet. Moving off the bed lights my ass up and I take comfort in feeling the painful twinges. Taking advantage that Papa's not here, I head out of my room, still in just the t-shirt I slept in, poultices still in tact, it's throw on a pair of pajama pants and straight to Michael's door, slipping inside without knocking. "Don't you remember what happens when little boys don't knock?"

Do I. Once, when I was nine, I walked in to see Papa's you know what, pounding the shit out of Daddy's you know who. I was frozen and watched a full six thrusts before Papa saw me.

"If you want to polish the old broom, I can definitely watch."

"I thought there was a ban on you and Harry Potter references? Besides, we must be on our best behavior, or have you forgotten?"

"Yep. All flown straight outta my head, 'specially after that sensational spanking last night. Let's fuck."

"No." He hops out of the bed he was pretending to sleep in. "That was a one off. And look at you? Go dress properly. You're not showing up at your nana's table like that."

"This isn't Gramma and Grampa's house, Michael and Papa's not here."

"I see. Suddenly the rules have become null and void. I'll be sure to notify Papa Winchester of the changes you've made."

"Wait. Don't do that!"

"Go, get dressed," he says, pushing me back toward the door, landing a smack to my still sore ass.

Ouch. Jeez Louise. I leave, pouting, but do as I'm told, including brush my hair, anticipating what Michael's definition of 'proper' is. If there were an instruction manual, I'm sure it would read exactly like Papa's. _Those two are more alike than they'll ever admit._

He's at the top of the stairs, waiting for me when I come out. He's got on a blue, Michael, short-sleeved button down with the same jeans from yesterday, still no socks. Speaking of which, I can't wait to ditch the ones I've got, my second mission (after my failed sex mission) will be to find Daddy and ditch the poultices.

"You're wearing the same pants from yesterday?"

"I didn't bring the right clothes for this place. No one informed me."

"I did too. I told you your clothes were too stuffy for Texas."

"That is not sufficient information."

"You're a grouch this morning, maybe you should have slept." Do I have to listen to him all day?

"Watch it, or you'll be getting another spanking after breakfast—a real spanking this time."

"Why?"

"Because you're being disrespectful."

"I'm always disrespectful, you're usually not so quick to pull the rug out."

"Therein lies the problem."

He grabs the scruff of my neck and we head to the kitchen, where Nana, Granddaddy and Daddy are. "Good morning sweet tea," Nana says to me. "'Morning corn bread. That shirt will never do Michael. I'll get you some more stuff and put it in your room."

It takes all my will power not to laugh at him. "Thank you Nana Colt. That would be much appreciated."

"It's no trouble at all dear, I just wish you'd felt comfortable enough to ask."

Michael blanches at the thought of having offended her.

Daddy's at the table with a cup of coffee, but he gets up gesturing for me to sit. "Take your shirt of Dean Bean, we'll remove those poultices."

I sit. "And can I take off the socks now Daddy?"

"Go ahead pumpkin."

Nana slips a thermometer in my mouth and helps Daddy de-poultice me as I look around the kitchen, stark compared to the tidal of Colts that occupied its space last night.

The pair do a good enough job, I feel refreshed when they're done, Daddy unwraps me and Nan comes behind him with a hot cloth, wiping the smelly poultice away. "Your temperature looks good sweetheart. Stay low-key one more day and I think we'll have this thing kicked."

"How about he and Michael help me with the horses, son?"

"That sounds a bit strenuous, Daddy."

"I won't work him too hard. We don't have many horses nowadays. I'll bet Michael would like to ride. You ride horses Michael?"

"I've never tried it, sir."

"See? He's gotta learn, Junior."

"And I'll make sure they're well fed all day," Nan pipes in.

"Okay, okay. You can do that if you want Dean Bean.

"What you gonna do Daddy?" I ask. The way he's talking makes it sound like he's not going to be here.

"I'm going over to Auntie Georgia's. Their church fundraiser is in a couple of weeks."

"Well in case anyone's wondering, I'm all fundraisered out," I say.

Daddy laughs. "Don't worry sweetheart. I promised your father my role would be minimal."

Read: Papa told him his role would be minimal.

"You and Michael will still run a booth for us, I hope?"

I can't say no to that face, but I think Michael would like to. "Sure, Daddy," I agree on both our behalves.

"Thanks pumpkin. You two are the prettiest, you'll sell the most pies," he teases.

"Someone say pie?" Uncle Dal saunters into the kitchen. I notice the distinct lack of engagement ring, but its removal has lifted a weight that's held Uncle Dal down for days and the usual size of his Uncle Dally smile has nearly been restored. It's a serious improvement, only, the smile doesn't light up his face like usual and I know there's still something not right with him.

"Yeah. Apparently we run the pie booth this year, 'cause we're the prettiest in all the land."

"Y'all are," Uncle Dal says messing up my hair.

"Hey, I brushed that."

I'm ignored. "What you doing today Dal?" Daddy asks.

"Don't know."

"I know," I say helpfully. "Why don't you go see what Uncle Chr—Ow!" Michael elbows me. I get confused looks from Nana and Granddaddy and mild stink eye from Uncle Dal. He knows what I was going to say. Daddy plays dumb.

"I'll go see him in my own time, half pint," he says a bit sternly as he helps himself to coffee and takes a seat beside Daddy.

Nana's watching us all, looking sly. "You boys wouldn't happen to be talking about a certain Winchester, would you? Son, just put a ring on that boy and be done with it."

I get another look from Uncle Dal, suggesting maybe he didn't spank me hard enough and look to my hands. "Actually Mama—ow!" Uncle Dal elbows Daddy and turns his sharp stare to him. It's a touchier topic than we gathered. Uncle Dally's always so laid back and cool.

"Christian doesn't want to be married, we need to be respectful of that. Conversation closed."

Daddy and I exchange a glance as Nana puts hot eggs, grits, ham and toast on the table.

"Well I don't know what's going on between y'all. I imagine I'll find out sometime. For now, I'm eating this lovely breakfast Adelaide made for us. I'd be pleased if y'all would join me." When Granddaddy Colt speaks, it might not be as harsh or as final sounding as Grampa Winchester, or Papa; in fact, it's soft and is disguised as a suggestion, but it's not and every single one of us knows it's time to shut up about the Christian business and start eating.

**

I'm to go out with Dean and his grandfather, spend the day with mud and horses, but before I do, there's a phone call I have to make. I won't make the same mistake as yesterday. I excuse myself and head to 'my room.' I dial Castiel.

"Hello, Michael."

"Hello, sir."

"So?"

"You were right. I disciplined Dean. All is back to… our normal. Maybe better than." I can't help the smile that bleeds into those words. I'm proud of us. We've come a long way.

Papa Winchester is not so generous with praise. "This doesn't mean you can slack off. That you're done."

As if I don't know that. "Yes, sir. Sir, I need your expertise."

"No need to brown nose, Michael."

I wasn't brown nosing. Believe me. How else was I supposed to say that? "Sorry, sir."

"Well, what is it?"

I have to school my voice, so it doesn't portray the irritation I'm feeling. As if I enjoy having to come to him for advice. _The things I do for Dean. He'll never know._ "I had to discipline Dean for another reason, with lines, but I’m not as, creative as you are. I was hoping you'd help me."

"What are they for?"

"Lying." I detail for him the occurrence.

"He was just reprimanded for lying. I assumed my opinion on that matter was clear." Papa Winchester sounds genuinely disappointed. "What is going on with that boy?"

I know that's just a rhetorical muttering, so I don't answer. Instead I wait. "I don't know what's happening over there Michael, but I need you to help me keep an eye on my family. They seem out of sorts."

"It's because you're not here, sir. They're often like this when you're gone too long." He'll think that's brown nosing again, but I don't care, it's true.

He huffs, frustrated. I don't think he found my words complimentary. Fuck. Likely they've stressed him. The man flusters me and I say stupid things. "I will help you with the lines for Dean."

Thankfully the conversation is short, but I'm still shaken. I jump when Nana Colt knocks on the door bringing me more clothes.

Downstairs, Dean and his grandfather are waiting on me. Daddy Winchester and Dallas Colt nowhere in sight. "Now, I am gonna take you boys out to the horses, but what would you think about helpin' me with an armadillo I'm havin' problems with first?"

Of course, I'm outraged. That wasn't the plan. But what am I supposed to do? Granddaddy Colt is an elder I'm to respect. I can't question his judgment.

"I say, yee-haw, Granddaddy! Sounds fun."

Of course he thinks that. I say nothing. "What's a matter, Michael? Think you won't catch it?" Granddaddy Colt says.

"No, I… That is to say I… I would like to try catching the armadillo, sir."

"Good. He won't be out now, but we can look to see what he's been up to. Be ready for him, for later. Let's go then."

**

I have to tell Axl. But I have no idea how to break his heart. As I do with most things, I pull out my guitar, hoping it can provide me with an answer. I've been working on a new album. I get lost plucking at the strings with no real purpose, trying on words with chords. _"If I fell… Fell in love with you…"_

Naw. Stupid.

 _"Fell, fell in love with you. Yes-ter-day knew it would be true. Never knew, knew I'd be in mis-er-y…"_ Jesus H. Dal. Stop thinking of him.

After three hours, I've got nothing good and nothing more than a broken heart. There's a knock on my door. "Come in."

"Hey gorgeous. Your mama let me in."

"Chris?" No matter how many times we see each other after a long time apart, I can't help falling in love with him again. _Love him again and over again. Stupid in love with him._ I'm not ready for him yet though, hence my plans of hiding here.

He walks in with the same goofy Chris grin he's had since he was fifteen, giddy, real happy about something and he wants to share it with me. Bad. It's like none of the past seven months ever happened. "The one and."

"Howdy," I say nodding my head, too frozen to get up. _Frozen in love, in pain, in heart wrenching turmoil._

"Well don't get up or anything."

I don't know why, but it really ticks me the way he says that. I put my guitar down and stand to full height. "I'm up. What do you want?"

He flinches like I've slapped him in the face, hurt by my tone. It's what I wanted, but immediately wish I could take it back. I shake my head. "Sorry."

He's pissed. "What the hell's a matter with you? I was excited to see you."

Okay, I'm back to ticked off. It's probably better we don't talk now, with both of us on emotional precipices, but he's here, so he gets the full brunt of my pain, the not so nice side of my anger. "You are, are you? Color me surprised."

"I do something Dals?"

Did he do something? The audacity! The gull! "I'm done, Chris. Done with you bein' too scared to walk down the isle with me. I get you've got issues with your father, yourself, we all do. I've done my best to help you and much as I'd like to continue being self-sacrificing for you, I can't."

His response isn't what I expect. Telling him we're done should crush him. Even if he doesn't want to marry me, I know he loves me. But he's smiling like a loon. Like he's figured everything out; the reasons for my anger. Like _he_ expected this. "Oh that," he's smiling. "I can fix this."

Advancing on me, he swoops in to kiss me. I push him away. _Hurts too much, his kisses hurt too much._

On instinct, he pushes me back. I push him again even though what I want to do is kiss him stupid. We're reduced to eight-year-old behavior as we push and push, each of us almost knocking the other off his feet. Then, pushes change to grabbing. I grab his shirt collar and push, he does the same back 'till I can't push him away anymore. I pull him to me. _Want him. Want him. Mine. My Chris._ And plant a possessive kiss on his lips. He doesn't fight it. He lets me, like he's grateful, so grateful to be home. Be with me. Be mine.

I'm stupid. I have to have him. It's always been like that; why he's so much trouble. It's always _have_ to have him, _need_ to have him. Maybe it's just been a case of wanting what I can't have, all along. Having to fuck him, own him, be in him. One with him. Maybe that's all just an unhealthy obsession.

His shirt is off quick. I took it off. We're kissing, kissing, imprinting deeper into each other's essence.

He fiddles with my belt buckle. Rips open the button. Yanks down the zipper. I do the same to him, like I never will again. When we're both naked, I spin him, slam his back against my chest, grab his cock and nibble his neck, him taking what I give him, how he likes.

"Mmph, Dals. You know what that does to me. You want me to come before you can fu- _uh_ -ck me? Fuck!"

He starts to lose it as I take a spit soaked finger and toy with his hole. "Don't you dare come Christian Winchester," I say in a low growl.

"I won't, I-I won't sir."

I spin him, kick his legs wide and get down on my knees where I lick the base of his cock and work my finger into his ass, I alternate between having his cock in my mouth and removing my finger to lick between his cheeks until he starts to get wild and beg. "Please baby. Please gimmie your cock…"

He knows how much I like him coming on my cock. "Gotta get you ready first sugar. Stay," I tell him with a hard smack to his ass, making him whimper. I delve into my suitcase for lube. It's always in my suitcase. He watches me as I slick up my finger, kneel back down and push it back into his hole.

"Aw yeah, Cowboy. Go'on. Add another."

I smack his ass for that. _Man I want to turn his ass red. It should be red all the time so he knows, knows who to behave himself for._ "Don't be pushy, Sur. I'll take my time opening you thank you very much." I smile wickedly.

"You in one of your torture Chris, moods?"

"And if I am?"

"I'll both hate and enjoy every fucking minute, sir."

I'm still pumping my finger in and out, slow and finally add another with so much lube you can hear the squish sound, as I fuck him with them. He's got tears running down his face from holding his orgasm back. I remove my fingers. "No, _please_ Dals."

"On the bed darlin', on your back."

He does without delay and I resume using my fingers to fuck him and suck on his cock. He places his feet flat on the bed, gaining leverage so he can help me, actively fucking my fingers. I smack his ass again, a few times for that. "D'I say you could fuck my fingers like that baby boy?"

"Nossir."

"I want your legs spread, grab your shins, open wide so I can see you."

He obeys quickly, knowing I don't like to wait, not with him. "Dals? Can you spank me again? I haven't been spanked in so long I was thinking about pitching a fit just so you would."

I pull my fingers out, flip him over and start wailing on his ass in a way I know will show my displeasure. There's a kind of spanking he likes and a kind he doesn't. "Ow, ow! Okay. _Okay!_ I'm sorry, no pitching fits."

I flip him back over, smiling, but when I look at his pretty face, eyes shining on me like I'm the face of God, I realize we can't do this and I'm the worst kind of person. I'm backing away, crying, wiping at my eyes.

I'm supposed to be the strong one, know what to say, always do the right thing, handle this situation, whatever _this_ is, but I don't know what the heck I'm doing. _How does Cas do it? What would Cas say?_ I have deeper respect for my brother-in-law.

Chris may be the 'Sam' between us, but he's still the Winchester. He takes the wheel for a moment. "Dallas? Shit. What's wrong? What did I do?" He slides off the bed after me, but I'm already grabbing my boxers and his. I throw them at him.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I mean it."

Now his face is a little more like I expected in the first place. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Say what now?" He awkwardly hops into his briefs, still looking at me.

"I mean you and me. Over. For good. I want to get married, settle down. I can't do that if I'm not over you, so I'm getting over you."

He's mad. Ever seen a Winchester mad? They're like hornets. They won't tell you when, they'll just calmly, swiftly sting you. Chris looks a lot like his brother when he's ticked. "What kinda nonsense you talkin'? We're never over."

"Yeah. We are. I'm not gonna force you into anything; I won't give you ultimatums. You've made it clear you're never telling your father the truth and asking to have his blessing for us. Fine. I want something more than that."

"Wait just a minute, is this about Axl Grease?"

Chris has always been jealous of Axl. Actually, he's always jealous of everyone, period. He's a Winchester. Winchesters get jealous no matter which side of the spanking fence they live on. But with Axl it's worse because he really is a threat, he's someone I have feelings for and Chris knows it. I told him myself. It's been just the two, with only a few in between, for the better part of two decades. Sometimes Axl was the reason we'd get back together, sometimes he was the reason we were apart.

No matter which it was, whether we were on or off, there was an agreement that I was Chris's top. He needs me, only trusts me, Axl's always been understanding—he's not exactly the one-partner type, least he didn't used to be, so he never minded. Said he still wouldn't mind if Chris needed me even after we were married. But I mind and I’m not doing it anymore.

"It ain't about Axl. It's about you bein' stubborn."

"Yeah it is. Every time we break up, you go crawling back to that guy," he says fed up.

"Least he wants to marry me."

"H-he, does?"

"Yeah. Said yes too."

"You did?"

"I did."

Shattered. Fuck. For a long moment, he's fucking shattered. He starts wiping at silent tears, I'm still wiping at my own; we're both crying our faces off. Hurts. Hurts so bad.

"I've never known you to be a fool Dallas Colt. You're a fool for that. Why'd you have to go and say yes?"

"I wanted it to be you! You know I did. Every time I even suggested it, you threw a Christian style fit."

"That's because…you know what? It don't matter now anyway. Enjoy your life married to hockey stick."

"Calm down, I'm not marrying him."

"Don't tell me to calm down. Wait you're not?"

"No. I'm not."

**

Nana, Granddaddy, Michael and I can't help it. We're riveted. We're listening at the bottom of the stairs. When we came in from hunting the armadillo and seeing to the horses, Nan was already there, still holding her dish towel, not even pretending to be doing anything other than listening. Granddaddy made a mild attempt to scold her, but when we all heard, "This is about Axl Grease…" Granddaddy wanted to hear too, so we all huddled. We're all listening still.

Daddy walks in to the four of us, blatantly eavesdropping. "What are you four up to?"

Michael and I exchange a look, we're caught and likely to be in trouble, we both look to Nan for help. "Chris and Dally are arguin'. Dallas told Christian about Axl and the proposal. We're listenin', sue us," she says not sorry.

Daddy looks at all of us. Several heartbeats happen. Then he speaks. "Y'all are terrible…and so am I. Shove over." Daddy pushes his way beside Nana.

**

"You're not?"

"Nope."

"Who are you marrying then?"

"No one. Well, soon as I tell him that is."

"You haven't told him yet?"

"Just decided it was off over the plane ride here."

"Well you get tellin' him then and maybe, if you're lucky, I'll think about taking you back. 'Till then, I'm not speakin' to you."

"Just 'cause it's off with him, don't mean it's gonna be on with us."

Yeah I'm hurt. I've planned this forever; it was supposed to be perfect and romantic, a surprise, but now it's going to be stupid because Dallas is a fool. But I've been an ass to him far more times than he's been an ass to me. He's never given up on me (until now) and I've been a pretty huge asshole, I won't give up on him, but I am pissed and he's going know.

"Yeah it is on with us. It is. You're marrying me and I won't take no for an answer." One of the best things about Dallas (even if this ain't exactly his best moment) is how much he's made me realize that I can be an alpha type in the world at large, but come to him, come home and give myself completely to him, follow his rules, defer to him, but still be allowed to do things like tell him where he belongs.

"I don't need a pity proposal. Forget it."

"You call this pity?" I get up, retrieve my jeans and pull out the ring that's been buzzing in my pocket for weeks. I never quite decided on how exactly I would propose, so I planned on just having it with me in case the right moment happened. Originally, I tried to come up with something stupid romantic for Dallas; had a few ideas in mind, but somehow, I kept coming back to his mama's front porch swing, where I told him I loved him for the first time.

But none of that's gonna happen; it's happening like this. I hand him the ring box. "Open it," I say quietly.

**

"Shh. I can't hear anything," Nana says.

"No one's talkin'," Granddaddy says.

"I can hear," Michael says. "They're just talking quieter now."

Four heads swivel toward him.

"You can? Right, of course you can. Why aren't you listenin' and tellin' us?" Daddy says.

"I thought you would disapprove. Clearly that was a silly idea."

"Clearly. Now spill."

**

"What in blazes is this?"

"An engagement ring."

"But you…you're not likely to take a husband."

"Yeah, I…I kinda had you think that, so it'd be a surprise, else how else would I have surprised you? Talked to my father and everythin'. He knows. He approves, well mostly, he wants to talk to you, but it's all good."

"Talked to him? What the hell's goin' on?"

He doesn't look happy. None if this is going how I thought it would. "I kinda made you think I didn't want to get married, so you wouldn't know."

"Didn't want to…so I wouldn't know…all this time…"

I think we're back to me being the asshole. "Yeah." I can barely look at his hard Colt eyes. He's deciding something.

My heart's beating so damn fast in the waiting, then finally, he puts the ring box (still unopened) down. "You mean all this time, all the pain, all the heartache I've been goin' through was for no reason?" Ouch. He's mad. Like real mad. Spank my ass raw mad.

"Well not _no_ reason. Hey, let's remember, you got engaged to some other—"

"I'm gonna kill you Christian Aaron."

I'm still mostly naked, only wearing the black boxer briefs I put back on, so it's easy for him to catch my wrist, turn me, pull down my briefs as much as he needs to and start swatting my bare ass.

"Ow! Ouch! I'm sorry, baby."

"You lied!"

"I prefer the term misled—ow! C'mon Dals, please."

I get another ten good ones, before he does stop though. He's still got his 'you're in hot water' look on. I can see him calming down some though, a ways off from his normal Dallas calm, but getting there. He pulls me in front of him, my boxers still pulled down in back, a big smile breaks his face. "Is this really happening?"

"Sure is," I nod. "Sure as hell not what I planned and I certainly didn't plan on you bein' engaged to that Yankee doodle."

"That's the least of your worries. If I'm gonna be your husband soon, I'm tanning your hide a lot better than I just did, so you never do anything like this ever again."

"That's fine with me Dals, besides, this is a one time kind of thing. But if you want, you can tan my hide everyday and twice on Sundays, so long as you’re my husband while doing it."

He picks up the ring box, then hands it back to me. "You want me to do this, like this?"

"Oh right. Just a second." He adjusts my briefs, so they sit where they're meant to. "There. Do it. Now. I'm not leaving this room and neither are you 'till we're promised."

"Fine." I open up the ring box. Dallas is a man who likes simple things, so I got him a simple ring. A thick, white gold band, with a large round diamond sunk into the center. I spent a long time thinking on what I wanted for him and had it designed. I get down on one knee and present it to him. "Dallas, Ethan, Isaac Colt, will you marry me?"

Dallas's eyes well with tears. "Yes, Sur."

"And promise not to spank me too hard 'cause the ring is so pretty?"

"Just put the dang ring on me, will ya?"

I slide it home on his finger where it belongs. He pulls me up off the floor and kisses me hard. "I'm gettin' you somethin' too. Been waitin' a long time."

"Oh. Now we're gettin' married you can do whatever you want?"

"Whatever I want."

I think about telling him no, but I know the truth now about what I want. "Fine by me, sir."

He lifts me up and my legs wrap around him; I lean in for a kiss, he walks us over to the bed, lays me down on my back. "Where were we?"

"I'm pretty sure you were just about to say, come like a geyser Chris Colt."

"Colt?" He looks at me funny. "No, no baby. Winchester. We're going to be Winchesters. I'll make Colt another middle name, got enough of'em what's one more? But no hyphens. Our last name is Winchester." He wipes at the tears still falling.

That's another reason Dallas is amazing. He knows how much my last name means to me and how much I also don't like hyphens in last names. "I'm adding it too then."

"Whatever you want darlin'," he says removing my briefs gently and his again. "And I remember where I was—nowhere near letting you come. Might not for days, 'till I'm sure you can behave yourself." I'm still open and slick enough he's able to slide it. He has to push the head of his cock past the ring of muscle then enter slow, I help by relaxing, bearing down. I sigh when he bottoms out. _Dals is finally all mine._

Well almost. "You're tellin' that Axl kid right after this."

"Yeah darlin'. Soon as."

"Wasn't a question, Dals."

His thrusts are slow and sensual, all the way to the promised land.

**

By the time the two lovebirds come downstairs to tell us the happy news, we've all found a 'job' to do, okay pretend to do. They walk down hand in hand. Michael told us when they began getting it on and we all scattered pretty fast after that. They were up there a long time. Uncle Chris looks slightly more worn out than Uncle Dally, I don't want to think about why.

"Everyone, we have an announcement to make. We have to clear it through Cas, and talk to Mr. Winchester, but barring that, we're getting married," Uncle Dal says showing us his ring.

We stare the all of us terrible actors and worse liars when it comes to this kind of stuff. "That is totally new information," I say. Am I biting my lip? Fuck. Yes I am.

"Y'all are bad liars—who listened?"

"We're all guilty," Granddaddy says before I can throw Michael under the bus.

"Daddy!" Uncle Dal says.

Granddaddy cracks a smile that creases his face and Uncle Dallas can't stay mad. "Congratulations son." He hugs them both and welcomes Uncle Chris to our large family, officially.

"Well hopefully you didn't hear the date. We want to do it right away, first day we can manage it, right here at the house."

"Yee-haw! We're having us a Colt-Winchester wedding!" Nana says.

Everyone hugs everyone and we admire Uncle Dal's new ring. Nana smacks Uncle Dal upside the head. "Axl? You were gonna marry someone named Axl?"

"Uh, sorry Mama."

"You should be, but let's put that behind us. We're having us an engagement party tonight. I have to phone everyone." Nana, not to be stopped, scurries off.

"We should head over now and talk to Father," Uncle Chris says.

"And I gotta call Cas pronto, if she's already planning the engagement party."

"She's gonna get outta hand, ain't she?"

"That's your future mother-in-law, sweetheart." Uncle Dal can't stop smiling. He pulls Uncle Chris in for a kiss. When they pull away, they're staring at each other with that stare, the one like my parents always give each other.

Michael scowls at them. "Great. Now we've got another pair of googly eyes to contend with. I hope you're both moving here."

Everyone's used to Michael's sarcasm by now. "Actually, we haven't got that far," Uncle Dal says.

"I was doin' some thinking," Uncle Chris says. "I don't see why both couldn't work. I still have to talk to Castiel, but I'm thinking I can still run the Texas office from California sometimes. I would have to be here some of the time, but with your tour schedule, I think we could make it work."

"You've already been thinking on it darlin'?"

"I've thought about everything. Just you wait and see."

"I love you, Chris."

"Love you too, Dals."

Kiss.

Okay. Now I agree with Michael. "I think it's time the 'kids' went to play," I say. "Daddy, can I take Michael to the park? I won't do anything strenuous, Michael won't let me."

"I dunno, honey. You're starting to look a little flushed. C'mere."

I go see Daddy. As he uses the back of his hand to check over my cheeks and forehead. "Hey there Cowboy," Uncle Chris says. "I didn't say a proper hello to you."

Today I notice Uncle Chris's more Winchester features, which have strengthened in him over time. He's the most laid back and fun of all the Winchesters, but a Winchester he still is. His deep blue Winchester eyes remind me of Papa and I feel an ache in my chest. _Papa's been gone too long._ I try to ignore the feeling; push it down. "S'okay Uncle Chris. You've had a lot going on."

"Okay, Dean Bean. You're cleared for the park. But take it easy, Michael you make sure."

"Yes, sir," Michael says. "Only one underdog for you young man."

I push him. "Haha. You're hilarious. That's so funny the last time I heard that, I laughed so hard I fell off my dinosaur. Good luck with Grampa, Uncle Dal."

"Thanks half pint."

"Back in two hours Dean. I want you resting."

"Yes, sir. Say, who's telling Papa?" I ask. Daddy looks over at me, concern in his eyes, knowing what I'm feeling, because he feels it too. He shares his concern with Uncle Dal, just by looking over at him.

"Why don't you tell him half pint? I have to call him and we have to have our own chat, but I'm sure he'd like to hear the news from you first."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Tell him I'll call him soon, okay?"

**

"Why you'd want to call that man without any outside urging…" Michael says as we walk down the porch steps.

"You're just jealous I'm calling your bromance buddy."

"Where are we going?"

"The park," I say waggling my brows, maybe there's a private bush just for us. I pull out my phone to call Papa. There's a text.

_Hey Gorgeous. Our plane was delayed, so we decided to leave tomorrow instead of waiting in an airport for hours. Any chance I can see you when I get in?_

Oh. Brad. Forgot about that guy. That can't mean anything good. But one of my problems, in love, is being too wrapped up in Michael. _Not sure. Have to check with Daddy. Text me when you're in._

"If that's football head, so help me I'll—"

"You'll what?" It's a threat. It's been a day and a half of Michael heaven, him just as I wish we could be, but thinking of the reason I'm with Brad at all, reminds me of the real us. I don't know why he's being different, probably because Papa threatened him not to be a dick while he's here at least, but Brad's the bucket of cold water dumped on my cozy sleep in.

"Nothing. What did he say?"

"None of your business." We do have a rule not to discuss relationships, as he well knows, but I don't have to be a dick about it. I expect a scolding, but he says nothing. I want Papa all the more. I call him.

He picks up on the first ring. "Dean?"

"Papa." It comes out as more of a plea than I mean it to. _Please come home._ I've long since learned not to complain. It makes him worry and there isn't anything he can do about it. Tears spring to my eyes as if from nowhere; I try to wipe them away quick before Michael can see, but he's already seen.

"Everything okay, Kiddo?" Papa says.

"Yeah. I'm fine Papa."

"Sorry I'm away so long this time. You know I keep the long trips to a minimum."

"I know Papa. I just miss you."

He's quiet. Great. I've gone and made him feel bad. I change the subject fast. "Guess what? Uncle Dal's not marrying Axl anymore. He's marrying Uncle Chris."

"Is that so? I don't recall giving permission to anyone. Tell me, am I getting senile in my old age, Dean?"

I laugh. That's Papa trying to be funny. "You're not old Papa. Uncle Dal's going to call you. He hasn't forgotten he needs your blessing, but it's a little less romantic to say, 'yes, contingent upon approval from Castiel Winchester.'"

"Never-the-less, that is what you're going to say when someone asks you. Understand?"

I swallow. That's Papa's very stern voice. An order. A rule. "Yes, sir."

"Good. What else has been going on?"

"Granddaddy Colt took us to track the armadillo digging up his garden."

"He did, did he? What does Daddy think of that?"

Papa must know Granddaddy Colt has designs on killing it. Daddy's a bit of a bleeding heart sometimes. Papa reads my silence perfectly. "He doesn't know. Make sure you tell him before you participate further, Mr. Winchester."

"Yes, sir."

"Speaking of, where is he?"

"At the house. He said Michael and I could go to the park."

I chat with Papa a bit more, 'till I feel better, letting the warm steel of his voice wrap around me. By the time I hang up, I feel less out of sorts. 'Cept I'm still mad at Michael.

We've been walking the whole time I talked to Papa. Michael following behind me two steps. For some reason, I'm fuming and I don't understand it. When we're a ways down the path through the trees, a good distance from the house, Michael reaches with a big stride and takes hold of my hand. Squeezes. Makes me hold it. Walks firmly beside me. I don't pull away, but it's a few steps before I relax a little and am actively holding on too. "So did I hear right? When the man foolish enough to ask you to marry him does so, you have to tell him no, and to ask your father?" There's a smile in his voice. He's teasing.

"You expected anything less? Good thing that'll never happen, since I'm going to spend my days not-married to you."

He yanks me in by my hand, presses the front of me to him, grabs the short hair at the base of my neck and pulls me in for a searing kiss. "Someone will ask one day. I'm sure of it. And when they do, I'm going to watch the poor bastard struggle; with popcorn."

He's trying to be funny and he is, but it's not what I want. I still have to work hard to conceal the smile that wants to crack. He lets me push him away; I start walking again, he doesn't for a minute; I get far enough away, he has to run to catch up. "C'mon baby. What do I have to do?"

He catches my hand and pulls me to him again, but this time he starts dancing. _And singing._

_"Missed the last train home… Birds pass by to tell me that I'm not alone…"_

Michael may have been singing to Dallas Jr. earlier and he will do it from time to time, but certainly not as often as my Von Trapp family. But he knows how much I like when he sings to me and that I wish he'd do it more. When I complain, he reminds me that it wouldn't be special if he did it all the time.

_"…Pushing myself to finish this part…can handle a lot, but one thing I'm missing…is in your eyes, in your eyes, in your eyes..."_

Michael's got a beautiful voice, yes, the voice of an angel, there's a reason for that saying. The words trail off, but the beauty still rings in my ears as we sway side to side, 'dancing' in the middle of the path that leads to the park. I'm laughing at him. "Okay, okay. If you're going to be that ridiculous… I'm good."

"No you're not, but almost." Using his angel strength, he lifts me easily and situates me on his back.

"I'm too old for piggy-back rides Michael." I'm still laughing though. "I'm not eight."

"No, you're not. A fact I'm very glad about. And this isn't a piggy-back ride, this is me carrying you, so you don't trip in those ridiculous shoes you've disobeyed me by wearing."

I was wondering when he'd say something. "Those other shoes are too hot Michael. Can't we find something you'd be okay with me wearing, other than runners?"

He's quiet as we walk, or as he walks I guess. I settle in on his back, nuzzling my face in his neck; my arms resting over his shoulders. "Okay. With the promise to never wear flip-flops again."

"Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Michael sings to Dean: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfiw-XIsFwM


	27. Lost Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Bteetor who waited for this moment oh so patiently! Thank you. Hope it lives up to expectations. #Teamdaddiescuddles
> 
> Also, a warning to Team Dean/Michael. One part in here might make you...upset...but Mock has a plan, so #trustmock okay? The thing that happens is supposed to lead to something fun. So just sit back and enjoy!

The house isn't chaotic, it's mental. It's dark, late, a time for young ones to be abed, yet I'm pretty sure I see Ansel, Thomas, Jessica and Fredrick running around in the front yard, unsupervised. Dean would have been in bed by this hour at their age. It's half-past ten. They're unsupervised, but not alone. There's a smattering of Colts and other family friends I recognize in front with red plastic cups. The music coming from out back is so loud, I would wonder why the cops haven't been called, but likely all the neighbors are here too.

I was dropped off by a cab, so it's just me and my rolling travel suitcase, walking down the driveway. I have to veer off over the lawn when I hit a funnel with too many people to roll through. I stop to talk to the kids. "Hey guys."

"Hey Uncle Cas," Ansel says.

"Hello Ansel. This is a big party."

"Yep. Uncle Dally's getting married."

"I heard. Have you seen your uncle Sammy in awhile?"

"Not for awhile. He told us not to climb trees in the dark, but then he was gone. He's everywhere."

 _I was afraid of that._ "How about your cousin Dean?"

She shrugs. "Haven't seen him. He was with the big kids."

 _That's never good._ "And Michael?"

"Michael?"

"Dean's… special friend."

"Oh yeah. That guy he keeps kissing."

I have to grit my teeth. What is Dean doing kissing Michael all over the place? "Yes. That one."

"I saw him with Uncle Sammy then Nana, then Uncle Sammy again, not sure where he got to after that."

 _What is going on around here?_ "Thank you Ansel."

"Welcome Uncle Cas."

"Shouldn't the younger kids be in bed?" Thomas looks half asleep already and I'm pretty sure the only thing fuelling Frederick is sugar.

She shrugs. "No one's mentioned anything, Uncle Cas. I don't think they care."

You're telling me. I should do something about them, but lucky for them, the only child I'm concerned with is my own. I squeeze my way inside. Everyone's too busy chatting, or too intoxicated to realize I've just joined the party. I scan the room for someone, anyone who might be able to direct me to Sam, or Dean and finally set eyes on Mrs. Colt. "Well look who it is! Welcome son, party's just gettin' going, you made it." She's half cut. I'm pretty sure everyone is.

"Good to see you, ma'am. I'm looking for Sam."

"Oh yeah, he was just out front."

Probably hours ago, about the same time the kids last saw an adult that noticed them. "I was out there, didn't see him."

"Then he's out back, dear."

I do my best not to huff in irritation. Of course he's out back. I thank her politely. I wheel my suitcase best, as I can through the house that's upside down. I make it through the living room, on through the kitchen to the deck and that's where I find Michael. Is he? Yes. Yes he is. He's _bartending._

When he sets eyes on me, I expect the usual look of veiled horror, but it's not horror this time, it's relief. Flooding, all-consuming relief. "Thank Fuck, Mr. Winchester. You're here," he says over top of all the heads that want drinks. "Please say you've come to relieve me of this misery."

Is the world ending? Not only is Michael relieved to see me, he said 'fuck' in front of me and thinks he has hope of _me_ releasing him. If anything, I'm more apt to leave him suffer. He continues to make drinks as I stare in utter disbelief, trying to digest all of that. "I told you, no fancy drinks. This is a highball, beer and wine bar only," he says, irritated, to a woman then pleads at me again with his eyes.

"Have you seen Sam, or Dean?"

He tries to hide his frustration, because no he hasn't, which decreases the likelihood of his discharge. "I know who Dean was with last," he says desperately. Like it or not, he is my best bet, because I still don't see either of them anywhere. I leave my suitcase a second, step behind the bar and announce, "Drink service is over. For the rest of the night it's help yourself."

No one seems to care, they all start pitching in, pouring drinks for themselves, as Michael and I walk back to fetch my suitcase and carry along off the deck. "Thank you, sir. I've been stuck there for hours."

"I didn't do it to help you, I did it because I need you to help me."

"I know sir, I'm still grateful."

I look the boy over. He's been partially Coltified. His jeans have more holes than a cheese-grater and he's wearing flip-flops for chrissakes. Somehow, that cotton t-shirt with V-neck manages to look scandalous on him. To borrow some of Dean's language, it's _weirding_ me out. "I disapprove, Michael. Find jeans with fewer holes."

"Yes, sir."

Speaking of. "Where is my son?" He usually knows where my son is and while I've gathered he doesn't at this point in time, I want my displeasure over him losing track of Dean known and for him to suddenly produce him out of thin air if possible.

The angel looks flustered. "He was last with a someone called Anderson, a Ricky, a Rory and an Aiden, sir."

The Colt teens. I know they're his cousins, but they tend to be trouble. They're Colts, enough said. "And Sam?"

"He's been…everywhere."

"So I've heard. What happened here?"

"It got kind of chaotic, setting up a party like this last minute in about four hours. We all needed to help."

That's not new. "And then?"

"Nana Colt, Daddy Winchester and Georgia were running things; handing out jobs. I tried to stick close to Dean, but they needed help setting up the stage and I was volunteered for obvious reasons, they wanted Dean performing other duties."

Each word of this is painful to him and I can guess why. While everyone was pulling him from Dean, he must have spent every moment worried about Dean, thinking about him, wondering what he's doing, trying to find him. He's reliving it in the retelling. I almost feel sorry for him.

"I completed that task as fast as I could, but before I could seek Dean, I was told to help unload beer kegs from trucks."

"And Sam was?"

"Still everywhere, doing everything. But at around seven-thirty, just before the hoard arrived, the bartender cancelled. Everyone else of age had a job, so I was given this one."

"I'm sure they didn't mean all night, Michael." I can't believe it—I do feel sorry from him now. _Jesus Castiel. Now is not the time to go soft._

"Mr. Winchester said he would let me know when I could stop. He did stop by from time to time to grab his own drinks, but he never released me."

As much as I don't want to say it, it would be remiss of me as head of my growing family. Michael did make a big commitment recently, it's only fair I give him an inch, well maybe more like half an inch. "My apologies Michael."

Michael has no idea how to receive that and I'm finding I can have fun in a new way. He rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, thank you, sir. I didn't mind, really, I've just been concerned about Dean. I haven't seen him in hours."

He's fidgety. Pine-Sol fidgety. I'm not sure who we should find first, Dean or Sam. "Let's head over to the stage, maybe one of them, or both of them are there." In the least, we should find Dallas.

"Yes, just one more thing, sir. Mr. Winchester, he's…"

"Out with it, Michael."

He looks anywhere, but into my eyes. "He's been drinking, sir."

"It's okay for him to drink, there are no rules against that."

"He's been drinking a lot, sir. It's a bit entertaining."

Sam can get a little out of control when he's had too much to drink. He's like Jensen and Jared's lost triplet. While it isn't a rule, I prefer he doesn't do it. He's going to be so hung over tomorrow. There is one up side to it. He's very interesting in bed after a few too many and we're already in the interesting category on a regular day. He's more…vocal. I sigh. I'm exhausted. It was a busy day before hopping on the plane that led me here. "Come along, Michael. Let's wrangle in our brood." If we can find them.

He almost trips on those ridiculous shoes, which is surprising, angels aren't clumsy. "Have you been drinking, Michael?"

"Just a beer, or two. I'd have to drink a keg before I'd feel anything, sir."

"Then why are you falling all over the place?"

"It's… do I have to—"

"Out with it."

"You're not…" he huffs. "You're not usually this generous to me sir and it's making me nervous. I'm…I know it's not for me, but thank you. I won't let you down."

He's becoming as annoyingly perfect as that Bradley fellow. "Tell me what you really think of my opinion of your new attire?" I know that's mean, but I have to make sure I haven't been wasting my time.

"Please, sir. Don't make me—"

"Now, Michael."

"I think I've earned the privilege of wearing this laid back attire, while visiting a laid back home. I dress respectfully all other times. I'd like to fit in here. I'd like permission to continue to wear the clothes Nana Colt has given me, sir."

There's just enough Michael snark, it's passable. "Permission granted. While you are here only. This does not extend to my father's house. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." His jaw is clenched tight.

We make it to the stage. _Friends in Low Places_ is blaring. Dallas has got his arms around two friends and they're singing into the microphone along with the music. My brother is looking on from the side of the stage with disdain. "C'mon up here, darlin," Dallas says to him.

I doubt Christian likes other people touching _his_ new fiancé like that. It's clear it's all friendly. No one's making moves on Dallas. Each friend is a long-time friend of Dallas's and the Colt's, so I'm sure Christian doesn't want to say anything, but he hates it. I know how he feels. It's the hard truth about being a Winchester, the control even controls us. I don't know what their final agreement is on that, I know Dallas has talked to Sam about it, and that they've got something. Christian lights up when Dallas calls him, he's up in a flash, cleverly untangling his intoxicated husband-to-be from the others. Christian puts a hand to his face and kisses him, smiling despite his obvious discontent. Guess nothing can ruin their fairytale tonight. "Hey! It's Cas!" Dallas sees me approaching. He lifts Christian from around his waist and plops him down on the grass below the stage, then he hops down after him, takes up his hand pulling him toward me and Michael.

"What're you doin' here, brother Cas?" His accent is thicker than it usually is. "Lookit this," he says showing me his ring. "We're gettin' hitched Cas, I can't wait." He smiles over at Christian, Christian smiles back, soft, amused by his drunk partner.

"Congratulations," I say and give them both hugs.

"When did yah, get in Cas?"

"Just. I wanted to surprise, Sam and Dean, but they seem to be the only ones missing from this party."

"Naw, naw. Sam was just here," Dallas says.

"He was?" Michael and I say at the same time.

"Yeah, I think so."

That's not too reassuring. Christian looks over to the friends Dallas left on stage. I know that look. That desire not to be a jealous prick even when that's all your brain is telling you to be. "Baby, why don't you go back with your friends? I'll help'em look."

"You'd do that for me?"

Christian laughs. "Anything. We're gettin' married, remember?"

"Yeah. We are," Dallas says dreamily. He leans in to kiss Christian again. I stop them.

"Okay you two. If one of you is coming with me, I'd like it to be now, please. I'd like to find my son too if that's not too much to ask." I'm starting to get a bit worried. No one's seen either of them for awhile.

Christian pushes Dallas off of him, laughing. "I'll be back, Dals."

Christian joins us. "I may have convinced him to drink too many," he says laughing.

"He's going to feel that tomorrow," Michael says.

"Yeah, I know. Dals doesn't drink much, but it's fun when he does. I'll look after him."

The Colt property is large. It stretches back several acres. They could literally be anywhere. Of course, I could phone his cell, but I'm still intent on surprising them; see the looks on their faces. I will if we can't find them.

We head back to where the stables are and find a group of beer drinking Colt under-agers and their friends. These ones are mostly Dean's age, except Aiden who's a little older, but still not old enough to be drinking and some looking around his age. "Uncle Cas," Anderson says hiding his beer, but not really hiding his beer unsure what I'm going to say about it. Funny thing is, I don't hold the same level of authority in the Colt house as Sam does, but I am his husband, and I am as Dean's relayed, frightening. (When I'm giving someone what for.)

"What's going on in here?" How many more times do I have to say that before someone will tell me?

"Just hanging out Uncle Cas. These beers are from Auntie Caroline. She said we could have a few so long as we don't go overboard."

This looks pretty overboard to me. It looks like a separate party. "And who's out here to make sure you're not going overboard, hmm?" No one has an answer for me. Which is what I thought, but lucky for them, I have other matters to attend. "Has anyone seen Dean?"

They're more than willing to be helpful. The best technique with teens is implied blackmail. I don't have any proof, but I'm certain things are not Kosher here. They know I can begin an investigation anytime and would rather have me gone pronto. "He went inside, sir. Said he was going to find Uncle Sammy."

This goose chase has become frustrating. I can tell the angel is annoyed too. "Thank you ladies and gentlemen." I want to confiscate what they have left of their booze, but I suppose the point of allowing them a drink or two is to trust them; an attempt to teach them responsible drinking; I have to let them fuck up first before I can bring the hammer down and none of them seen out of hand. Yet.

We leave, circle around and back up, still no sign, but I do see something hopeful: A Winchester. Now I know how Michael felt when he saw me: Like I was a lifeboat and he was drowning. "Father," I say to grab his attention. He's with Sam's dad. They're talking armadillo problems.

"Ah, Castiel," he says putting an arm around me. I notice the scotch in his hand. Fuck. The Colts have infected him too. "This is my boy. And my other boy!" he says putting an arm around Christian too. "So proud of these boys!" He holds his scotch glass up and Samuel clinks his glass with Father's.

Father knew I was coming home earlier. We had things to discuss anyway, so I told him. For a guy who likes to surprise, he doesn't like to be surprised—there's that to remember too and I do. "Samuel here and I have come to an important conclusion," he declares. "This means we're family twice now. It's unprecedented; it's special."

Is everyone here, drunk? "Yes, Father. We were hoping you could point us in the direction of Sam, or Dean, or, where's Mother?"

"I can help you son. She's with Sam and Dean."

That's no help at all. "Where with Sam and Dean?"

"I imagine inside. Dean wasn't feeling well."

Finally some information I can use. No wonder I didn't see them inside. They're likely upstairs, in Dean's room. And I really hope he's not unwell because he drank too much with the Colt teens. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt, but if I find he's been over consuming like the rest of this party, I'll kill him. "Thank you Father, that is helpful."

We have a long trek back. The news does not relieve Michael, he's quiet. I'm a little testy due to my lack of sleep and hours travelling. Everyone here is just having a good time, they're not doing anything wrong, but it's all particularly irritating right now. "You know Castiel, they're likely okay. Why don't you have a drink? Calm down a bit before going to see them."

"You must have had one too many, too, if you think I'm going to do that."

He laughs. "Let's just say I'm not fit to drive, but probably not drunk enough to really believe you would, no. Don't hurt to try."

We finally make it back to the house, but it takes us awhile. When we finally reach Dean's room, I'm baffled, but only for a second; he's not in his room. I really should have known better, though.

I smile and head to the room Sam and I use when we're here.

Earlier That Day

The chaos has already consumed the place by the time Michael and I arrive back at Colt Central. Daddy and Nana are running around like chickens without heads and even Auntie Georgia's there. Food's already being prepped and Granddaddy's on the phone, sounds like he's ordering beer. There are half-dozen other Colts flying around too. I don't know how they're going to throw this together in only a few hours, but if Daddy has anything to say about it, they will.

Michael and I are still looking around befuddled, when Grampa and Gramma Winchester walk in the door with Uncle Dallas and Uncle Christian. "Hey Grampa and Gramma!" I say excited.

"Hey Doll! You look bigger again. You're gonna be big as your daddy soon."

I really hope so. I'm well aware we're not genetically related, but apparently I was pretty tall before, I'm a decent height now, I'm hoping I'll grow like before. I give them both hugs. "How's my favorite grandson?" Grampa says conspiratorially.

"Clyde Winchester, you aren't supposed to say things like that; out loud."

"I'll say what's true. Besides, it's not like the other boy's here to hear me."

She shakes her head.

"I'm good Grampa, look, Michael came."

"Hello Mr. Winchester, sir," Michael says. "Mrs. Winchester."

"Michael, hello," Grampa greets fondly. He likes Michael. "I hear another wedding might be on a future horizon."

 _Fuck. He did?_ What did Papa tell him? Or not tell him?

Michael doesn't know what to say, I'd better save him. "He's been at every Sunday, dinner Grampa," I say proudly.

"That's what I hear. Speaking of Sundays, isn't that what today is? Wasn't there somewhere you should've been this morning?" It's a gentle scolding, because he's Grampa and I'm his favorite, but he isn't impressed.

"I think Daddy had designs on an evening service, but those plans have been kyboshed. Daddy did spend the morning with Georgia discussing church fundraising," I say, hoping we're not in too much trouble. 'Cept I'm pretty sure Daddy and I fucked up.

"If he couldn't make it, he should have sent us to fetch you. We would have been glad to."

"I'm sorry, Grampa." I like disappointing him about as much as I like disappointing Papa.

"We can discuss it later. For now, let's have us a party."

I check in with Uncle Dal. His eyes say they've been opened. I imagine he's been read his rights, or whatever tops do with other tops. Thankfully, I'll never know. I'm a happy brat and I'm good at it. He nods, to tell me it's all good.

From there it's utter mayhem. Michael's told he's helping Dally and Uncle Jamie with the stage and I'm stuck setting up chairs, which turns into entertain the younger kids, as more Colts arrive. The kids keep getting in the way; I try to give them jobs, but overseeing their jobs proves to be more work than just doing it myself.

The set up isn't all bad. It's fun. We've got music and laughs and silliness—the Colts know how to have a good time, it's just I'm so damn tired. By the time the party's in full swing, I'm fucking lethargic; run off my feet. But the thing I'm most concerned about, I'm not hungry, not one little bit. I make a plate and make it look to Daddy like I'm eating so he won't worry about me (he's doing enough stuff) but soon as he's not looking, I dump it. Then my head starts pounding. Fuck. I think…I think I'm fucking sick. I don't want to admit it yet though. _I'll get through this party and tell Daddy in the morning._

"Hey Dean," Anderson says approaching me. He's with all the other Colt teens. "We got a hook up on some beers, we're gonna have our own party in the barn. You in?"

All I want to do is fucking lie down, but in the barn would be a great place to hide from the adults. I look to see where Michael is and catch a glimpse of him behind the bar. I feel like shit, but nothing short of death is going to stop the mirth I feel over seeing Michael, bombarded by too many people and serving drinks. I want to go over and make fun of him, but it will take him all of a second to figure out I'm not feeling well.

"I'm in." I follow him, feeling eyes on me (probably Michael's) but it's my back. He can't tell I feel like shit from the back, can he?

The barn is pretty pumping. It's no Babylon, but there's music, lots of kids and beer, which I'm handed. "Uh, thanks."

"C'mon cuz, I'll introduce you around."

Clarence is here, so I go over and talk to him. He's my only cousin on the Winchester side and he prefers to go by Aaron (his middle name like Uncle Chris's) for obvious reasons. We get on surprisingly well despite the way Grampa clearly favors me. He thinks it's funny. Thank Christ. I like Clarence and you don't want a Winchester against you. Clarence has Uncle Chris's playful humor, Auntie Clarabelle's sarcastic wit and Papa's Winchester edge.

I fucking nurse the beer I'm given, trying to ignore the way it makes my stomach churn and my throat feel scratchy. There are a shit ton of kids here, but I hang with my cousins, feeling too shitty to really interact with anyone new. Even that is half-assed. I'm mostly just listening to their conversations and pretending to drink beer.

That's when I notice this guy. Holy shit. He's super hot and I don't recognize him. Dark hair, steely grey eyes, leaning against the barn door, drinking a beer like he's too cool for everyone. I can tell by looking at him, he's super bad ass. "Hey Andy, who's that over there?"

"Him? That's Jake. Jake Travis. That kid's fucking weird."

Kid? He looks like he's thirty. Anderson's a bit of a big shot. He likes to be the one making all the connections, pointing out who's who and being on top of everyone and everything, like organizing this cousin party. "But not related, yeah?"

"Why? You thinking on ridin' that horse, Winchester? What about that dude you brought?"

"We have an open door thing going on." A door I haven't used since I began seeing Brad. But maybe I should. I know Brad won't like it, but I'm finding it hard to care looking at that guy. _Like holy shit._ He's got this Ian Somerhalder meets Gale Harold, I don't care about anything-thing going on. All he's wearing is a white tank top with pair of jeans.

"Not related. Go nuts. He came here with the big twins, Jesse and Beau."

Suddenly, I'm able to push my shitty feelings of nausea and fatigue to the side; sex is likely just what the doctor ordered, I'm probably running a deficit right now and that's why I'm sick. I'm fucking horny and he's my only chance. Michael won't have sex with me, Brad won't have sex with me. I'm sure this dude will. He doesn't look like the kind to worry about what my daddy will say.

And best part, Michael and I don't even have to talk about it, since we've agreed not to discuss our 'extra-marital' escapades. Which is fucking good because I'm practically salivating imagining what his dick looks like. I walk straight up to him and give him the you're going to fuck me eyes. "No," he says.

Wait? What? I haven't said anything yet. And is he fucking blind? "Hey what's your problem, dude?"

"You. Scram jail-bait."

I can't, can't even…I have no words and I can't move. "Pretty little thing like you not used to hearing no, are you?"

"Well, uh, no actually. You're the first," I admit reluctantly. I don't count Brad. Brad wants to sleep with me, it's just a timing thing. This guy is saying no indefinitely.

"Don’t I feel special." He says that in the most prick-ish voice imaginable. It's true what they fucking say though—you want what you can't have and I fucking want this dude all the more because he's telling me no.

"Is this some ploy to make yourself irresistible? Because it's working and believe me you don't need it. I'm fully willing to roll over for you."

"I know I'm irresistible." Fucking prick. "It's not a ploy. I don't want you. You're too young. What are you, like twelve?"

Fuck. I just want him all the more. "Oh. I get it. You don't like guys."

"Sometimes I fuck two guys a night."

Okay. "You're with someone, then."

"I don't do relationships. Face it. I'm just not into you. Beat it."

"Well fuck me."

"No. I thought that was established. There, now him, he's worth my time. Go back to sticking your blocks in the holes."

Without another glance, he's off across the barn pulling some other guy to him I don't recognize. He makes sure to spin the guy around and send me a smirk, making a flicking motion at me. What a dickface. And I feel, whoa, rejection. It fucking sucks and so publically.

_Fuck did that turn me on._

All I can do is stare after the guy, who's completely forgotten about me, hating the fuck out of him, until my stomach lurches. Whoa. Wish I could say it was because he disgusts me, but it's not, it's the fucking virus that's got hold of me. Besides that guy reminds me too much of me. Gotta give him smooth operator points.

All of that's something I can beat to later (him turning me down, but then offering to let me fuck myself on his dick if I do everything he says) unless I want to add puking all over everything to my mortification. Maybe if I go lie down awhile, I'll be okay in a bit. "Heya Anderson, I'll be back."

"You don't look so good, kid."

He call everyone that now? "Yeah. Not feeling great, gonna lay down. See if my daddy has anything for me to take."

"Okay Dean. Catch you later."

I don't actually want to bother Daddy though, or Nana Colt. Michael will freak. I wish… I wish Papa was here. Man. I'm such a fucking baby when I'm sick. Yeah. I'm sick. I admit it. It's dark now, guess I was at the Colt-kid party longer than I thought. The stage is rocking. Uncle Dal is our country star, but many other Colts sing; they're taking turns, giving Uncle Dal the night off. This night is for him and Uncle Chris. I haven't even hung with either of them. I decide staying away from them is best too. I don't want to ruin their night having them fuss over me, instead I make my way toward the house. As I do, Grandaddy, Grampa and Gramma are coming toward me.

"Dean? What are you doin', I say what are you doin' all by yourself?"

"I was going to lay down Grampa, not feelin' so hot." You don't lie to Grampa Winchester. It's a bad idea. Especially since word about that lie will get back to Papa.

The three of them frown with concern. "C'mon doll, Gramma will take you up to the house."

"Thanks Gramma, but I'm okay. I don't want to ruin your fun at the party."

"Nonsense, that's what Gramma's are for. We live to take care of our Grandchildren." She puts an arm around me not taking no for an answer and I gotta admit, I'm kind of glad.

Unfortunately Daddy chooses that exact moment to come walking past us. "Dean Bean?"

"I'm fine Daddy. Enjoy the party. Gramma's gonna help me."

"What's going on here, Sur?"

"I'm…I'm sick."

Now Daddy has that frowning puppy look. He feels guilty, like this is his fault. He always feels that way when his remedies don't work. They do a lot of the time, but when they don't, he feels like he's failed me. He starts feeling my forehead and cheeks with the back and front of his hand. "You're burning up, sweet Jesus, Dean."

"I wasn't feeling this bad earlier, it just kept getting worse."

"Don't worry about that now. C'mon. We'll get you all fixed up sweetheart."

**

On the bed is Sam, cuddled around our son. Dean's shivering, his teeth chattering even though he's piled in blankets and Sam—I know that can't be from alcohol; Dean's sick. Gramma's at the end of the bed, rubbing Dean's feet, Dean's eyes are screwed shut, but he's not asleep. I love my son and dearly, but I have to say, he's a giant baby when he's sick and Daddy is more than happy to fuss over him. He complains and whines about Sam's 'fighting-a-bug' ministrations, tries to act tough, but when the tsunami hits, he's daddy's little boy.

Dammit. Try as I might to get him to grow out of this 'phase,' and have him sleep in his own bed for once while he's sick, he's too woeful for me to even attempt to be a hard-ass. I park my suitcase and remove my jacket as Sam registers I'm here. He smiles a goofy lop-sided smile. He is a little pickled; likely our son's illness has sobered him some, but it's there in his eyes. He shakes Dean gently.

"Hey Dean Bean, look who it is."

I'm loosening my tie, when Dean opens his eyes. "Papa!"

Mother moves off the bed, so I can sit beside him more comfortably. He pushes up and throws himself against my torso, wrapping his arms around me. I hear his sniffles and know he's crying. I spend a moment combing my hand through his hair and shushing him softly.

"I'm really sick, Papa. Don't feel good."

"I see that, kiddo."

He keeps his head buried in my white shirt. Michael clears his throat; I look over to see the distress clouding the angel's eyes. "Daddy Winchester, I could—"

"I don't think so, Sur," Sam says.

"This is ridiculous," the angel hisses. "Every time."

His churlishness is surprising and isn't. It's been a sore point between Sam and Michael all these years. Sam won't let Michael heal him from smaller illnesses. Sam believes it's better for Dean's immune system to fight off infections itself. And if that weren't the case, there's the much greater reason, for Sam; Lucifer. Michael's not allowed to use his grace without his father's permission. Every time he has, he gets nearly skinned alive. Never-the-less, the angel's insistent on healing Dean, going as far as to disobey Sam a few times. The angel won't disobey me. "Enough, Michael."

He doesn't say another word, I don't even get a 'yes, sir.' "C'mon Michael," Christian says. "Come with Uncle Chris. I need you to help me wrangle in Dals. He's likely passed out on stage about now and I can't carry him by myself."

He still doesn't want to leave. "Go'on sweet pea," Sam says. "I'll come find you and give you an update. Dean's gonna be just fine."

Reluctantly, he leaves with Christian. "Aw, my poor Grandson," Mother says, running a hand over the back of his head; his face still buried in my torso. "Gramma will stop by with something to help in the morning, doll face."

Dean looks up. "Thanks, Gramma," he says, eyes rimmed with tears; wet; red.

Soon as everyone's gone, Dean buries himself into me again. "You were gone too long, Papa."

"I know. I'm sorry, kiddo."

Sam looks over at me, his eyes say to trade him spots, unfortunately, that means prying Dean from me first. Sam helps. "Come here a sec, Dean Bean. Let Papa get comfortable and he'll lay with you."

He whines, but allows himself to be pulled back in with Sam. I quickly divest myself of my black slacks and white, long-sleeved shirt and find a t-shirt from my suitcase. Sam gets up and staggers just a little, doing his best to hide his 'giggle' at almost falling over. "It's good to see you, Cassy," he says with a quick kiss.

"Good to see you, Baby." We've long since given up having 'perfect' reunion hugs and kisses since Dean. More often than not, it's been Dean that needs my attention first upon my return. I do give him a smile, thinking about what we would have done, if we didn't have our grown-up child in our bed. _Sam's just the right amount drunk._ Instead, I slip in with Dean, who flips around and digs his head into my chest.

"Looks like you got yourself a kling-on, Papa," Sam says taking off his shirt. He almost falls over again. "Mother shmucker!"

Dean can't help himself and laughs at that; I laugh with him and can't help admiring my husband with his shirt off. He may be in his early fifties, but he keeps fit, his abs are still washboard and the tattoo he got, we all got when Dean was twelve, looks good on his skin that's only a little weathered. It's those good Colt genes. "Shoot! I forgot my beer downstairs and Dean's gonna need some water." He begins heading toward the door.

He's going to need some water, not the rest of his beer. "You're not wearing a shirt, Samuel." Though right now, that's the least of my worries. I'm not sure if he'll make it down the stairs. How he made it up here in the first place is a wonder, though when something serious happens, it's a good sobering tool; looks like that shroud of sober has left him. "Turn the light out and lay down. I'll go get us all some water in a bit."

"Okay, Cassy." He turns out the light and stumbles back to the bed, slipping in behind Dean with his jeans still on. I have to move us all backward, more toward my side of the bed, so we all fit. Sam settles in. _This bed was not made for three._ I mentally prep myself for a night of little sleep, after a day of little rest. "We've got a real Dean sandwich now, don't we Cassy?" he says laughing at his own joke.

It doesn't take long for Sam to pass out, but Dean's still awake. "Daddy's tuned," Dean says weakly.

"You got that right. How you feeling?"

"Better now that you're here, but still like I've been invaded by an army of tiny robot aliens and they're at war with all my organs."

"Close your eyes and go to sleep."

"I've been trying, but I can't seem to fall asleep. Maybe if you scratch my back?"

"You'll have to turn around if you want me to do that."

"Okay."

Dean shifts around, Sam's not bothered in the least, he's dead to the world. I begin scratching Dean's back. "We missed church today, Grampa's mad," Dean says. Since Dean could articulate, he's had the compulsion to tattle on himself to me when he needs to hear my firm voice.

"I know. Grampa already spoke with me. It's all sorted."

"Are we in trouble?"

"This is one of those times being a kid is in your favor. Daddy decided not to take you. I'm not going to blame you for that, kiddo."

"Oh. Is Daddy in trouble, then?"

"Only a little. I'm sure he didn't mean to, but you know the rules are stricter here about church, so I can't let it go. I can tell you now that Grampa is demanding he picks you up for church each Sunday while we're here, if Daddy can't be trusted to take you. I'm going to say yes Dean. I've already got other things he's going to be pissed at me for."

"Like Michael. He thinks we're getting married."

"Yeah. I thought it best to talk to him in person about that."

"I'm sorry, Papa, that's my fault." His croaky sick voice wobbles.

"Dean," I say firmly. "Papa can handle Grampa just fine. I made the decision to allow Michael into the Winchester circle, officially, that one's on me. As much as I'm told I spoil you, that is not a position I'd give to just anyone."

"I knew it," he says.

"It's also a position that can be revoked. At any time."

"Oh, I know Papa. But that won't happen."

"You don't know that." How is he so sure? Maybe I'm not strict enough.

"I do. Michael even…" yawn. "Michael even said you could, you know, discipline him. He's doing a lot to impress you."

"He is," I agree. "Close your eyes now, kiddo. Have sweet dreams," I tell him, since Sam can't.

"Is it working?"

"He's got a long ways to go, to impress me." It's true. I'm not sure anyone can impress me enough to be worthy of Dean. I'm still scratching his back. I press a kiss to his head.

"If you…" yawn, "…say so Papa. Love you."

"Love you too, angel."


	28. Musical Bedrooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Winchesters for you! This chapter advances the storyline and plot zero, but there were multiple requests to see, 'just drunk enough Sam,' as well as Sick!Dean through the night. 
> 
> Fair warning, there's a good chance the next chapter may time jump a little. Not sure how it's going to play out, but I want to get to some bits I've been waiting awhile for. This chapter is more indulgence, for Mock readers and Mock! Happy Monday (or Tuesday, depending on your time zone).
> 
> Also, I hope this is "funny." I thought so...though I have a very strange sense of humour.

For the fourth time in the past hour, Daddy giggles. "Hey Cas, Cas, Cassy, remember that time when you tied me to the bed and—"

"Okay, Dean's out."

I push up off the bed and slither down. Papa's up in time to catch me as I stumble, 'cause I'm fucking dizzy. "Where you going, Kiddo?"

"To my own bed Papa. I can't sleep with him talking all night. He's crazy, Papa."

It's dark, but I can tell Papa's trying not to laugh, because I know, I know, I've been the one keeping them up for the past two and a half decades. "He is a little crazy when he's had a few. Okay, I'll come help you get settled in. Sam, you stay here. I'll deal with you in a minute."

"Oh! You gonna spank me, Cassy?"

He's way too excited about that. My ears. They're bleeding. I cover them and start heading out the door, I almost trip over Michael in the hallway. "Michael? What are you doing here?"

"Yes, explain yourself," Papa demands coming out from behind me. Michael jumps up. He doesn't look to care about much else other than me. Not even scary Papa can deter him from looking me over, before he answers.

"I was told I would be notified as to Dean's condition. I was not." That's it. That's all he says. Holy fuck. He's fucking challenging Papa. Did he suddenly turn stupid?

Papa gets really big, posturing like a shark. He's liable to bite Michael's head off. "No one has any obligation to notify you. Come along, Dean." Papa puts an arm around me and continues down the hall, guiding me, turning down another long hall and to my bedroom. Michael follows stubbornly behind us.

When we reach my room, Papa pulls back the covers and I climb in, but all the walking has upset my empty stomach. I have to put my hand over my mouth and push at Papa, making it past him just in time to run to the toilet across the hall. Papa and Michael follow behind me. "Michael, fetch us a bucket of some sort."

"Not even a please," I hear him mutter as he walks off. Papa is too busy with me to scold him, as my stomach continues to heave and puke up nothing but bile acid. I think puking up nothing is worse than puking up something. When you have something exiting your stomach, you feel relief. Puking up bile acid burns and seems to sap a shit ton of energy and all around life force.

Papa's running the sink and he appears by my side with a warm cloth, which I take from him to wipe my mouth. I moan. "Ugh, Papa. I don't feel good."

"I know, kiddo. C'mon, let's get you back in bed."

As he's tucking me into my bed, Michael shows with the bucket and a glass of water for me. I accept it gratefully, take small sips then hand it back to him when I'm finished. Michael won't stop looking at me like I'm about to expire any minute. "Okay, Dean. I'll come back to check on you in a little bit."

"Come back? You're not staying?" I look up at him with big eyes.

"Sorry. Papa should know better, shouldn't he? Of course I'm staying with you. Michael. Out."

"What? That is completely unfair. I'm staying." Michael defiantly sits in the chair by the bookshelf.

"Michael, so help me, this is not the time for you to act like a rebellious teenager."

"Dean needs me."

"I'm here."

"With all due respect, sir," sir is said without the usual respect behind it even though the word 'respect' preceded the word itself. "I'd feel better keeping two eyes on him."

Papa's going to kill him. He's going to kill Michael, if I don't do something. "Papa!" I croak. "Please, can you let him stay? I need you both." What I really need is Daddy, but he's incapacitated. These two are always fighting over taking care of me. Daddy's the only one who can set them both straight. I do a poor job of it, but it's enough to get them to remember themselves.

Papa's removing the skin of Michael's vessel with his eyes; Michael can barely suppress the shudder. He's being brave right now, but he's terrified of my father. If they weren't so serious, I'd be fucking laughing at him right now. "You may stay, but you sit over there unless you are called for. We will be chatting about this in the morning."

Thank fuck. My heart slows. I'm hot and fucking cold at the same time. I don't have the energy to deal with these two. Unfortunately, this is when they're both the most territorial. Papa turns out the light then slides in with me. I try to fall asleep again.

Just as I'm about to nod off for the umpteenth time, the door bursts open, light from the hallway floods in and hurts my eyes even behind closed lids. "Dean Bean! I brought you water."

He also brought loudness. His voice is startling and it sounds like the party has picked up again downstairs. Daddy's still shirtless, which means he went downstairs shirtless. It's no secret Papa doesn't like that. "Jesus Christ, Samuel. Go back to bed. Now." Uh-oh. Papa's lost his thinning patience. He doesn't lose it often, but he's only human even if he seems super human most of the time. I'm guessing today was already long, then he arrives to find the Colt house in utter chaos; probably had to look for us. To complete the sundae, me, his beloved baby boy, apple of his eye, is sick and well, I guess I'm not exactly easy to deal with sick. We must have fallen asleep and woken up at least five times in the past hour alone, four of those with Daddy saying something silly. That's more than enough to make him grumpy.

But now, Daddy looks like he's going to cry and I understand that too. Papa being that angry at you is the worst thing in the world. The worst. It's hard to describe the feeling. I guess it's the equivalent of having the rug pulled out from under you, but that rug isn't just one thing, it's your whole world. Your stomach does this swoop and plummets into a darkness. You feel like you've been abandoned. That's never Papa's intent, which is why he's very careful, but we can't help feeling that way. Papa's warmth is just that good.

That feeling, that horrible awful feeling is written on Daddy's face and he runs out, swiping at tears. Papa swings his legs off the bed and scrubs his face with both hands. "Papa, it's okay. Go see Daddy, I'm fine." That's horseshit of course. I don't want Papa to leave, but I can't stand the thought of Daddy upset more.

"You're a bad liar, kiddo."

 _What is it now? Am I biting my…?_ yeah, but I don't think Papa knows about that. I think it's just his Papa sixth sense. "Yeah, fine. I'm lying, but I can't stand the thought of Daddy upset. Please go make him feel better?"

"Okay, c'mon Dean. Let's go back. You're too sick to be left by yourself."

Oh no. That's not happening. "Papa, no offence, but I really don't want to see how you and Daddy make up." This is a situation where Papa will be kissing Daddy's ass, probably figuratively and literally; I don't want to see either. Not that he'd do the second part with me there, but I know them well enough to know it will be implied; it's hard for him to help it.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Nobody's doing anything except going to sleep. Come along, please."

Ugh. I start lugging myself out of bed yet again, when Michael (who apparently hasn't reached his stupid quota for the night) pipes in, "I'll stay with him."

Papa laughs. "I don't think so."

"Please, Father. I'm too sick to do anything I'm not supposed to. Michael will take good care of me." Why the 'Father?' Because he's in a shit-ass mood, I'm walking the line of his version of disrespect, since he's already given me an order and I'm pleading for something I know he really, really doesn't want to happen: Me alone in my bedroom at Nana's house with Michael.

Papa looks back and forth between the two of us and I think I'm lucky he feels guilty about snapping at Daddy. "I will allow this tonight because you are sick and there are extenuating circumstances, but this is not permission for this to continue beyond tonight. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," we both say at the same time.

"If I even think you've been in this bed Michael, I will put you over my knee; I won't care who's present."

"Yes, sir."

I'm pretty sure Michael's blushing. "Come get us if he needs us."

"I will, sir."

"Dean, go to sleep."

"Yes, Father."

He shuts the door, carefully, even though he's clearly in a worse mood, one I'm sure slamming the door would help; Michael and I are left in darkness. We remain frozen for several heartbeats, 'till we're sure he's not coming back then Michael gets up and creeps over to the side of the bed laying down on the floor, not touching the bed in the slightest. I throw a pillow down for him. "You're in puking range," I warn.

"I'm also very fast."

We're quiet for about five minutes. I feel like shit and should listen to Papa and go to sleep, but this is fucking exciting—it's like we're having a sleepover. "I can't believe you stood up to Papa like that. He's gonna toast you tomorrow."

"I don't care, Dean." Papa's not the only one pissed.

"What's up with you? I'm too sick to fight with you. If you're gunna be a dick, go."

"I'm not leaving Dean." His voice is calm and smooth. "Close your eyes and go to sleep."

Jerk. I roll over, facing away from him, so I can do just that, but my body has other ideas. Michael is fast. He's there with the bucket, before I really know that I'm puking. He waits 'till I'm finished, then he's passing me a Kleenex as I moan. (Puking hurts) "Be right back." He's out the door of the bedroom as I lay back exhausted (puking's exhausting), woozy and nauseous even though I don't have anything left in me to puke up.

Michael's back with a warm cloth and helps me wipe my face down like he's seen Daddy do, but he's not Daddy. I try not to be upset about that. Maybe I wouldn't mind so much, if Michael wasn't being a cold fish. He takes his spot by my bedside and I roll over again. It feels like forever passes, but I can't fucking fall asleep. I need to cuddle something. I can't ask him to come up here and risk being spanked. Though, Papa is probably going to spank him anyway, so does it really matter? "I can't sleep, Michael." My teeth start chattering again, like I'm fucking freezing, 'cept I've got a ton of blankets on me. "Maybe if you scratch my back, like Papa does."

Without making any noise, he grabs the chair from in front of the bookshelves and brings it over to where he was lying. _Oh, didn't think of that._ He starts scratching my back. "You're not doing it right," I say after a little while.

"You turn into a giant baby when you're sick, you know that?"

"If you have a problem with that, then fucking leave, dick."

"That's awfully close to 'fuck off.'"

"But it isn't. You're pissing me off."

He keeps scratching my back. I don't say a word. "I can't handle you being sick. You know that. And I can't heal you, or even clean anything. That's why I'm acting like a dick."

"Oh. Why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?"

"Because you should just _know._ I shouldn't have to explain every little thing I'm feeling."

"Well I don't _just know._ You have to fucking tell me. You have no problems telling me shit like, you think I'm a giant baby."

"That's easier somehow." I can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Do you really think that?"

"You are a giant baby, especially when you're sick, but I don't mind. Not really. I wish, I wish you'd at least show some desire to want me for comfort and not _just_ your parents."

"You do?" I'm fucking shocked. Wait, I know. I'm having delusions. This virus is melting my brain.

"How can you not…? You can't be that dense. You can't…you are. You are that dense."

"You're kinda being a dick again, just saying."

He sighs. "Fuck it." He slips in behind me, moving me over to the side Papa was sleeping on and nestles into my body that's burning up like a furnace. My teeth are still chattering. He slips a jeaned leg between my legs, his arm wraps around my waist, chin on my shoulder. A hand reaches for my hand, a familiar hand, one I know in the dark by touch and it slips over top of mine how I like. _Only Michael can do this._

I relax into him; all the heavy energy weighing me down from the damn virus begins to lift. "How many times have I held you, Dean?"

"I dunno, like a billion?"

"Do you think I hold everyone like this? Especially when their breath smells like puke and bile acid?"

"No?"

"No. Now go the fuck to sleep Dean."

Only Michael can do that. This. _Whatever this is._

**

I fucked up. I fucked up. It's why I don't like to get this tired. As my tired level goes up, patience level goes down. I'm a ticking bomb. I'm also a lucky bastard. Sam's so good with me. This isn't the first time I've snapped at Sam, sadly won't be the last, but usually he's not pickled and knows how to deal with me. Play me like a fiddle more like. He'll kick my ass if he thinks he needs to, or simply do his handling-thing with me he thinks I don't notice him doing.

When I enter the room that's only lit by the light at the side of the bed, I immediately get a sobbing mass of man, globing onto me. And he's crying. Sobbing. "Caaas! I'm sorry. I was just getting Dean something to drink! I broke a rule. I'm sorry. I, I, I…"

I'm not sure whether to be sad, or relieved. I really thought Sam was going to kick my ass this time. He might yet. "Shh. C'mon, Baby. It's all fine." I put my arms around him.

His cries turn to sniffles, he pulls away to look at me with his sad puppy dog eyes. "That was mean, Cas."

 _Here we go._ "It was and I'm sorry." I grab his chin firmly. "I mean it. I'm sorry. I'm just tired. I didn't mean to snap at you, but you know I hate when people see you half-naked. There are more than just family downstairs."

"Yeah? What does it do? You get jealous Cassy?" He starts tugging at my shirt. I know that look in his eyes. He wants to have fun. "Show me."

I push him onto the bed. Hard. He goes easily, laughing. Loud. I straddle him. "Yeah, I get jealous," I say pretending it's the first time I'm telling him. "You're mine, Samuel." I mean every word.

I shouldn’t have the energy for this, but knowing Sam was down there, half-naked, for everyone else to see (because I wasn't wrong about that, there are more than just his family members downstairs) it makes me crazy; gives me the fuel I need, for this. Turns me animal and I have to have him. His taunting doesn't help. He knows. In his semi-drunken state ('cause some of that alcohol has to of run through him by now) he brazenly tries to rile me. Not good. I will bite.

His hips buck up into me. "Ride me, ride me stud."

"Stay still, Sam." No matter how firm I say it, the chances of him complying are slim. He'll try, or maybe pretend is a better word, to comply.

"Yes, Cassy. I mean, sir." He laughs again. "C'mon Cas, stick your cock in me, please? Or do I have to go downstairs again?"

"You know, you're being awfully disrespectful. Get on your knees and beg me to stick my cock in your mouth. Maybe that's the only place I'm sticking my cock tonight."

"Oh. Kinky," he says using his Sam-strength to push me off of him and get on his knees. Of course it's not going to be the only place I stick my cock in him. I want to hear him scream. The party's still loud enough downstairs, we likely won't be heard and you know? Don't care if we are.

He looks up at me, when he's kneeling before me. Sam's beautiful. I always say that, because it's true. It's always true. Even when he was a lanky teen, his eyes were just as expressive, telling me they loved me from the bottom of his soul. I run my hand over his strong jawline and admire his smooth lips. He winks and yanks down my boxers. All his usual grace when undoing my pants is gone and I can't help bursting into a smile at how cute he is.

"Please, Cassy. Let me wrap my hot mouth around your gorgeous dick," he says, his accent thick. Being home's enough to make it come back, being home and drunk? He's my southern boy all over again. "C'mon sugar, I'll make it real good. You know I can suck cock."

That he does. Normally, I'd make him do a lot more than that. I'm a lot of things to Sam, for a long time we 'played' and I was his Dom. I used to have the staying power of a sled dog. I may be older, but I can still hold back, no matter how aroused I am (which is very at the moment) and could make this last the better part of the night.

If we didn't have a sick son, who could come knocking at anytime.

So I have to move things along instead of what I'd like to do; tease the ever-loving shit out of my drunk husband. I nod. "You may." He giggles again.

Not even alcohol can dim Sam's cock sucking skills. He knows exactly what I like and right now, he uses that knowledge against me. He sucks slow, but hard at the base, gentle at the tip, slowly making me pant. "S-Sam. Fuck Baby. Suck it. Suck my cock." He's happy to oblige and gets faster. Faster. Faster, 'till I'm fucking his face, can't help it. My hand slides into his long hair and I hold him there; he opens wide for me and puts his hands behind his back, though I haven't instructed him to. He likes them there. He likes when I fuck his face.

Sam moans around my cock and he swallows when I finally come down his throat. He sloppily wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and stands up. In a quick, precise swoop, I grip one of his strong things from under the hamstring and pull it to me so he has to stand on one leg, keeping predatory eyes on him. I yank on his leg, bringing him close enough to ravage his mouth. As Sam does when he's this inebriated, he's moaning and making pleasure-filled sounds into my mouth.

He tears at my shirt, pulling it over my head, as I step the rest of the way out of my boxers, refusing to let go of his lips, even as I murmur, "Sam, my Sam," over and over.

I get a huge giggle from him. "Oh, think that's funny, huh?" I pull his legs out from under him, guiding him so his large, long body falls on the bed again.

He continues to giggle the entire time I undo his jeans and pull them off. "That tickles Cassy."

I'm not even trying to tickle him. "Don't worry, it won't in a moment. I promise." When I finally get to yanking off his boxers, I see what he's got inside of him.

"You like, Sir?"

I trail my finger over the large, blue plug he's got in. "I do, baby. But you're drunk, you coulda hurt yourself."

"Nah. Imma, pro. It felt good. I thought about you."

I slap his bare ass-cheek. Hard. "You better have."

"I did. And I used lots of lube."

"You went downstairs like this?"

"Oh yeah. All plugged up, ready for you to stick your cock in me."

Holy Moses. It's a good thing he remembered to put his pants back on. "Spread your legs for me, Baby. In the air," I say. He does and I'm treated to the obscene view of his pucker, his sac hanging down, just over it, his cock is solid, lewdly leaking onto his belly. Carefully, I work the plug out; he's not quiet about it.

"'Mon, Cas. Fuck me, please fuck me."

"As you wish, baby." I slide my cock into his ready hole, letting him adjust to its larger size. Then start fucking. _Fucking._ I'm not slow, or gentle, or kind. I use my cock like a battering ram; shove, rut and pummel.

Sam likes it. I know because he's loud. He doesn't just whimper and moan like usual, he's crying out with every thrust. Cheeks flushed, hands gripping anything and everything in reach; the sheets, his own thighs, as he spreads his legs ever further for me. I admire his firm ass and thick, hairy legs as he arches his back and cries out.

I push him further up the bed, kneeling onto it, pressing his knees by his ears, getting better leverage and using my cock like a blunt force. "Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"

Anyone walking by can hear us. The thought crosses my mind that one of those anyones could be our sick son, it's a likely possibility; I have no illusions he'll stay in his bed, or that I'm getting any sleep tonight, but I am hopeful to get through properly fucking my husband before any of that happens. I move this along faster still, pulling out of Sam and flipping him over, by tossing his right thigh leftward and without missing too many beats, my cock's back in him, he's prostrated and I grab his hips slamming him toward me. He's going to have Castiel prints on him in the morning.

"Oh Jesus. Good lord! Son uva Bitch!" He'll never admit it, but he says that because of our son. He gets louder, as I rub my dick furiously over his sweet spot, moaning in pure bliss and grabbing a pillow to hug under this chest with one arm as the other claws at the bare mattress where the sheets have torn free. I get more fun Samisms in his thick accent. "Castiel! Cas- _tiel!_ Fuck me Papa Bear! Fuck Mama! I'm gunna come like a firecracker, sugar!"

It's hard not to laugh.

I can feel the point where he's about to burst. His whole body tenses then begins to shudder around my cock. As he comes, he trembles, screaming, "Hall-le-fucking-lu-jah!" like it's five separate words. I come again, inside, his loose, fucked-out hole then collapse my sweaty, tired body on top of his for a moment, before pulling him to me so I can spoon him. Sam leans his head back for a kiss, which he smiles into. His hair's a mess, his lips are swollen; cheeks flushed. "We _have_ to do that again, Cassy."

"Not tonight, Baby. Some of us need sleep."

He's still too drunk and I'm too tired to clean the come off the sheets. I reach behind me to switch off the lamp, we squish into each other and I close my eyes. He's got other ideas though as he starts singing the theme song to _Greatest American Hero._

"…Who could it beeeee? Believe it or not, it's just meee."

"Sam. Enough."

"I was just singin', Cas. You're so grumpy."

"I'll show you grumpy in a minute," I say patting his ass. "You're already due a spanking before breakfast and that doesn't even consider the one you're getting for missing church. Do you want one now for disrespect?"

"No."

"Samuel."

"No, sir. Am I really getting two spankings?"

"At least."

He pouts his big beautiful Sam lip at me, but finally, _finally,_ he shuts up. I pull the blanket over us, kinda (it's a fucking mess) and we close our eyes. I don't know how much time passes, I think I actually managed to fall asleep for a bit, but I'm awoken (disturbed) when the door opens. "Papa?"

Sam jumps up and the blanket (which was barely covering us anyway) slips off of him, exposing his parts and the fact that my parts are up against daddy's parts. "Dean? What the?" that's Sam, who did fall asleep, coming to.

"Oh, God. Are you two? Ick. Yech! My eyes!" He covers them.

Michael, who was stupid enough to come in behind him sees us too. "Fucking Christ, Dean. You didn't knock?" He's hysterical.

"Papa said they wouldn't be doing anything. I should have known better. Take me back. Get me away from this."

Dean looks utterly spent. I think he used the last of his strength to make his way back here. "Stop right there Dean Winchester and sit in that chair, now." He can't sleep here now that our sheets our dirty, but I'm not letting him out of my sight. He obeys me. I get up to grab some nightclothes. Michael is horrified and so is Dean.

"Papa. You're naked."

"I don't have anything you haven't seen before." My clothes are easy to find. Sam's up too, running two hands through his hair, making his fucked-out hair that much more fucked-out. He looks like he's sobered quite a bit. Groggily, he makes his way to the closet, where's he hung his stuff and grabs a t-shirt and some sleep pants.

Michael and Dean continue to stare anywhere but at us and even avoid looking at each other. We'll likely laugh at this sometime in the future, but right now, Michael and Dean are having strokes and I'm grouchy because, shit, it's four a.m. "Okay, back to your room, Dean. You can't sleep in here," I say.

"Yuck. No I can't. Figured that one out on my own." He reaches his arms up to the angel. "I need you to carry me, Michael. Can't walk anymore."

The angel tries to make like it's a great suffering, but it's clear to me he's more than happy to take on the task. I give him a look that says not to get used to it. I'm only letting him now, because my son really does look like he can no longer walk. Sam could likely carry him if he really had to, but not easily. The angel is best suited. With an arm under both his legs and one securely wrapped around his torso, Michael lifts Dean to him bridal style; Dean rests his head on Michael's shoulder, an arm around his neck.

The four of us engage in another game of musical bedrooms, hopefully for the last time tonight. I pull back the covers for Michael once we're there and Michael settles Dean in the bed, Sam slipping in with his little boy. "Oh, thank god, Daddy. Are you back to normal now?"

"Pretty much, sweetheart. Wouldn't drive, but I'm sober enough."

_Sometimes Dean just needs Daddy._

"C'mon Michael, let's go." I'll go back to our bedroom. I'll likely worry about Dean all night, even though I know he'll be fine with Sam looking after him, but at least the two of them will get sleep.

"You're not leaving, are you Papa?"

If Dean looked small and pitiful before, that's multiplied a thousand-fold over the night with little sleep. I simply can't refuse him. "No Mr. Winchester. I'm staying too, but you're out, Michael."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No, sir."

"Michael," I warn.

"No, sir," he says again with more power behind it. "Dean is my responsibility too. You've said so yourself. This is within my jurisdiction, sir. I demand to be given permission to stay."

Holy shit. Dean being sick has caused Michael to find his kahunas. He's learning though. That's a good thing, but he's still too disrespectful. I give him a cold look that makes him shiver, but he holds his ground. "The only thing saving you from a good hiding right now, is the fact that I want us all to try to get some sleep. Your disrespect is not appreciated, nor will it be tolerated."

"But, sir, you won't even consider—"

"You don't demand things. Not from me. Just ask, Michael."

"But, but, you usually—"

"Ask and be respectful. I'm not always going to say yes, you're going to have to live with that, but I will sometimes grant permission if I deem fit. Ask."

I know my husband and son are watching, well, Sam's watching and Dean's listening with his eyes closed. Both are amused.

"May I please stay, sir? If not, I'll—"

"No. You won't anything. What I say goes. If I say no, you'll turn and go straight to your room 'till I say you can come out. Won't you?"

He doesn't like it. Not at all, but he reluctantly nods. "Good. Your argument is sound. You may stay."

The corners of his lips tug, but he confines them from spreading into a smile. "Th-thank you, sir."

"Now we're all going to sleep. No more singing, or talking, or arguing, or moving, or fucking—"

"I knew it," Dean says.

I glare in his direction 'till I'm sure he's going to be silent. "We're all closing our eyes and going to sleep."

"Where shall I sleep, sir?"

Good question. Even if the bed could fit one more, that's not happening. "There." I point to the end of the bed, on the floor and get Sam to pass me one of the six pillows on Dean's bed. Michael doesn't complain, or argue satisfied with being allowed to stay in the room. He accepts the pillow and lays down with it. I slip in on the other side of Dean. And there we are. No more vacancies in this hotel, we're closed for the night.

I hope.


	29. (Pretty Well) Everyone Except Dean Gets Spanked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All! It is I, finally rising from the pile of science-related jargon I've been reading. I'm working on this open-book exam for this course I took, you see and it's consuming my life and sadly my muse! This means writing is slow, but I'm here. The faster I finish this exam though, the faster I can get back to regular programming, so bear with me! 
> 
> My muse did side with readers for this chapter, thus there has been no time jump and I was still able to meet my goal for this chapter in accordance with the storyline. Blah, blah, freaking blah! Tell the story Mock. Okay, okay. I just missed you guys already that's all. 
> 
> Hope you like it! There is something that has been long awaited in this chapter...
> 
> Oh and Happy Birthday Jensen Ackles!

[Cue William Tell Overture AKA Morning Song]

Morning comes too soon for our foursome, so no one stirs when the light pours in through the thin white curtains; it is ignored that morning has come altogether; the snooze button has been pressed indefinitely. Even the angel, poor guy, curled up on the floor at the end of the bed, is out cold. He was up with Dean the rest of the night…and everyone else. There was no more puking, but lots of moaning. Not the fun kind of moaning Sam was doing earlier. Dean was in pain. Ache-y. Nauseous. All around sucky. There were even a few tears everyone pretended not to see, even if it's well known that he's a big baby when he's sick. And let's face it, the baby of their little family.

But, it was the angel that took the brunt of the chores; getting more water, more warm cloths and even digging through Nana's kitchen cupboard for her special flu tonic after some direction from Daddy Winchester. He wanted everyone to sleep and he was sucking up. He's in trouble in the morning and he knows it. He actually thinks there's some hope, or trick to getting Cas to go easy on him. Right. No. Dean's the only one Cas remotely spoils in this story. But you knew that.

When Dean finally conked out, so did Michael.

In the bed. Dean's in the middle. I don't know how they managed it (probably utter exhaust) but they did pass out, all three, together. Dean's furled into Daddy, tangled in the thin sheet so we can see patches of the t-shirt and boxers he fell asleep in, plus one foot, uncovered, squishing into the sheets. When he wakes up, he's still going to feel like shit, but right now he's peaceful; cozy.

Even Daddy, who found it hot and opened the window at some point, finally found his sleeping sweet-spot and's been breathing easy the past couple hours, one arm reaches toward his boy.

Papa. Our poor Papa. He's asleep now, but only just. Even with the window open, it was too hot. Three in a bed has always been too much for him. Their bed at home wasn't so bad when Dean was little. He looked forward to some of those nights even. Right now he's uncomfortably asleep. He wouldn't be anywhere else. His eyes are screwed shut, he's curled toward Dean and Sam, but he's aware of even the slightest movement. The bird didn't know. He just wanted to sit on the sill and fluff his feathers.

**

_Huh? What's that noise._ "Shoo! Shoo!"

Carefully, I roll onto my back, into the empty space Papa vacated and look to see him talking to an empty window sill. He looks about as rough as I feel, his disheveled hair all the more disheveled, eyes puffy and squinted. He's still got a soft smile for me. "How you feeling, kiddo?" He asks when he's back and runs a hand through my sweaty hair.

"Shitty," I whisper, unafraid of Daddy's bar of soap. I'm pretty sure he's dead to the world right now anyway. There's stirring from the end of the bed. Michael's up, but unlike us humans, he somehow manages to look refreshed. I just wish he'd lose some of the sour mood that's gripped him.

"How about more of that flu tonic? I can rub it on him, sir."

Michael's on Papa's list. I don't envy him. I try very hard to stay off that list. Just seeing the way Papa looks at Michael, with dark disdain, gives me a pit in my stomach. It's not just the flu giving me that pit either. I have a PhD in Papa disdain. "Michael. Thank you for reminding me of your unwanted presence. You and I will be speaking about last night."

All the commotion wakes Daddy and he's having none of their posturing. "Okay, that's it. You two are over. Cas, go to our room and get sleep."

" _Samuel._ " Papa doesn't like being told what to do, especially when he's this grouchy, but Daddy pays him no mind.

"If you still think it's fair to later, add it to my tab, but right now, you're leaving. Michael, if you don't need anymore sleep, go find Nana Colt and ask her to warm up some broth for Dean."

"Yes, sir. Sir? Will she be awake yet after last night? It's only eight o'clock."

"Oh yeah. Mama's probably got a cleanup crew going already."

"How come he gets to do stuff?" Papa complains. I'd laugh if I didn't feel like death and if it didn't mean certain death.

"You have some Papaing and some Winchestering to do today, Cassy. You'll thank me later."

Like Michael, Papa tends to get a bit irrational when I'm sick and pushes himself to the end of his endurance for me. It's cool, but we need Papa to be Papa. For that he needs lots of sleep. Michael wisely heads out the door getting a head start on Papa. Papa comes to kiss my head. "Go back to sleep," he says.

"I will Papa."

When he's gone, I do laugh. "That was awesome, Daddy."

"I'm not finished. You're going back to sleep if I have to tape your eyelids shut."

Well that's not fun. "But Daddy, I'm not tired. I can't sleep anymore." Yeah, I'm whining.

"You're going to drink some broth and then you're going to close your eyes, Dean Winchester," he says not having any of it. "Even if you can't fall asleep, you'll still be resting."

And that's a 'Daddy says,' if I ever heard one. "How about you? You were seriously loopy last night."

"I'm fine Dean Bean," he says pushing the hair off my forehead. "Just tired. I drank a load of water last night in between getting up for you—no heavy hangover."

"You were ridiculous," I laugh. "Is Papa going to kill Michael?"

"Papa won't kill Michael, sweetheart. Don't worry about any of that for now. Besides, Michael can handle himself."

**

"Ow. That's too hot, you trying to burn me?"

"It is not too hot." I know it's not too hot. Daddy Winchester poured the water into the bowl; I know he always makes it the perfect temperature. Dean's just being difficult. I put the cloth back in the bowl, abandon wiping him down with it, grit my teeth and attempt pleasant. "I'm sorry, Duck."

"I don't feel good Michael. Way to make me feel worse. Did you get the juice I asked for at least?"

"Juice? You said water."

"Daddy knows to bring both in case I change my mind."

He has got to be the most spoiled so and so… "I am not a mind-reader. Not from a distance anyway."

"Then what good is it having an angel? This blows donkey dicks."

"I can go get you juice."

"Don't worry about it," he says swiping the water from me. "I'm dying anyway. Don't waste perfectly good juice on me."

In the past, I might have freaked out about a statement like that thinking Dean was actually going to die. I know well enough now to know he's speaking figuratively, but I still don't like it and from the way he cows his head, my face must be showing it. He carefully sips his water. "Go back to sleep."

"I've been sleeping all fucking day. This is fucking stupid."

"Maybe I should take your temperature again?"

"Nothing is coming near my ass, unless it's your cock Michael."

I smirk. He was being such a brat earlier I made true on my threats to take a rectal temperature. "My cock? I had to carry you to the bathroom. You can't handle my cock right now."

"Bet I could. Almost did see some action while I was sick, in fact."

"You did?" I can't keep the growl out of my voice. Fuck. I'm getting worse and worse at continuing this act. If I have to see another asshole put their paws on Dean, I might end them.

"Yeah, why? You jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous? Fuck whoever you want. I most certainly do." _I'll enjoy disemboweling the next person to fuck my Duck._ I haven't disemboweled anyone in a long time. Centuries. I'm sure it's a skill that needs practice.

"Good. 'Cause we probably will fuck. He's hot and you're too afraid of my parents to risk fucking me. I'm not going to be celibate this whole trip."

Is he taunting me? I can't tell. "I don't expect you to. Especially not after my night, before I knew you were sick, that is."

He gives me a funny look. "I thought you were bartending for Daddy?"

"Everyone was too busy to notice what was going on underneath the bar."

That visibly hurts him. He pretends it doesn't. I'm surprised he believes such a poor lie. "Whatever. That dude really wanted me. I have his number. I'll call him when I'm not sick anymore."

 _The hell he will._ "You should, but won't your boyfriend have something to say about it?"

"Who Brad? He's not my boyfriend."

"You wore his letter jacket Dean."

"Until you went all possessive and territorial and said I couldn't. Maybe he brought it with him…"

Now I _know_ he's egging me on. Normally it wouldn’t change my response, but now I'm thinking about mystery man from the party. Brad is the evil I know. "Wear it if you want. "

"I will. I'll get him to fuck me for the first time in it too."

That's what hangs in the air for the next five minutes as he stares at the ceiling and I stare at the spot on his shirt stained with puke. This is normally the point we' say sorry, but we don't this time. "Let's change your shirt. There's puke on it."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine."

"On second thought, I am sleepy. You don't have to stay. I'm fine on my own."

In other words, get the fuck out. "I'm not leaving Dean."

"Why? 'Cause Daddy asked you to watch over me? Don't do me any favors. I'm fine on my own. Hey, idea for you, why don't you just go get your cock sucked by someone else in my nana's house?"

"Dean—"

"No really. It's fine. We're not supposed to talk to each other about that shit. I just remembered why."

"Exactly." Except I _need_ to know about dickbag from the party. I'll get Tom to end him. I'll never be implicated. "Aren't you worried about what Brad will have to say about you canoodling others?"

"Nope. But for his sake, I think I'm gonna break it off with him."

"Just like that?" I move over to his suitcase. I'm changing his shirt whether he likes it or not.

"Not just like that. I really like Brad. That's why. I can't do relationships. I realized last night, I like having my freedom too much. Brad's cramping my style."

New shirt in hand, I head back to the bed. "Sit up."

"I can't."

"You have enough energy to think about who your next conquest is going to be. Sit up."

"Ugghhh."

I help him, pulling him up by his hands. He really doesn't look good. My investigation will have to wait, but I am going to find out about this person. "Hands up." He obeys me, half-dead and I pull the white tank over his head, replacing it with a clean grey t-shirt. He slumps back on the pillow. I don't like the way the covers are tangled around the lower half of his body, but he won't let me fix them. "I'm miserable."

"I know, Duck. I think we should see if you can hold something else down, other than broth."

"No," he says closing his eyes. "I think I really am sleepy again."

"I thought you said and I quote, I've been sleeping all fucking day."

"This thing is sucking the life out of me." He rolls away from me and onto his stomach, tangling the sheets all the more. I wrinkle my nose. I'm still by the bed, so I sit down and attempt to scratch his back like Papa Winchester does. I'm probably doing it wrong, but he's too exhausted to say anything. He brings his hand up to his eye to swipe at a tear. There's a sniffle.

"Does it hurt? Where do you hurt?"

He hesitates a moment before answering. "Yeah. Everywhere."

 _Damn Daddy Winchester for not letting me heal him._ That's the fucking stupid part. "Remember when, when we were kids and we used to lie outside and watch the stars together?" he says.

"No. I was never a kid."

"Yes you were and you know it. That was back in the good old days when Papa allowed the odd sleepover."

"What's making you think about that?"

"Nothing."

" _Dean._ "

"I don't know, go suck a cock, Michael." There are more tears. They're not from him being ill. It's the other sickness, the one in his heart. The one that's my fault. I remember when we used to watch the stars; we still do, from his tree house, but 'when we were little,' it was more special, because we had to have permission from Papa Winchester. The stars came out past his bedtime, so him getting to stay up late was an event. Daddy Winchester made us snacks and drinks and left us 'kids' to lie on the deck of his ridiculously giant tree house. I scan through my memories of the times we spent doing that, trying to see if I can find what might make him cry. Oh. _Oh._

It was recently after the construction of the tree house. I think Dean was almost nine. One of our first star-gazing times in the tree house, he talked about kissing. I was mad. I told him he was too young to think about kissing and that if anyone kissed him, I'd set them on fire with my mind. He laughed thinking I was joking, but then he started hinting around the idea of me kissing him. The thought terrified me. Until then, I never thought about Dean romantically. I've never liked people touching him, but for reasons that have nothing to do with sex.

I was scared even more by the prospect of kissing him. I suddenly wanted to, too. It became all I thought about. Made me irritable and moody. Okay, _more_ irritable and moody. We fought. No surprise there. But eventually I gave in like I always do with Dean and kissed his pouty lips under those stars for the first time.

And I liked it. Too much.

Soon we were finding many reasons to sneak off and kiss. It was all 'little kid' stuff. Timid, little pecks on the lips, which I was more than happy with. I wasn't just terrified of kissing Dean, but of what Papa Winchester would do if he found out. The whole kissing business lasted about a week, but while we did it, we agreed to only kiss each other.

"Sorry, I'm being a dink," he says wiping his eyes. "Those days were just a lot easier. I'm fine Michael. I think I am going to dooze off."

"Good. That's what you need."

Daddy Winchester knocks on the door as he opens it. "I brought you some more soup broth Dean Bean."

"Aww Daddy, I was just about to sleep."

"I know, cheese doodle. Just drink a little, then you can go back to sleep. Cas wants to talk to you Michael."

Just like that. He tells me that so calm, and casual. "B-but I need to stay here and look after Dean."

Daddy Winchester gives me his I'm-not-dealing-with-nonsense-today look. "You need to go talk with him before he decides to retrieve you, Sur."

There's that blasted 'Sur,' again. "I thought he needed to sleep."

"He did. His first thoughts upon waking were of you. He said, send me the angel."

"I don't suppose there's any chance he was singing. I thought Papa Winchester was a big Scorpions fan?"

He rolls his eyes skyward. "Lordy Bee, Michael. It's just a spanking. You're as dramatic as Dean."

That makes me blush. Does he have to talk about it? It's bad enough it's about to happen. Dean, eyes still closed, laughs. "Oh, you think that's funny do you?"

"I think it's funny that probably everyone is going to get spanked today _except_ me."

"Everyone?" Daddy Winchester says. "Not Uncle Chris."

Dean laughs. "I learned a lot last night by _not_ getting drunk with the Colt cousins."

"What's this about you getting drunk with Colt cousins, Sur?"

"As much as I'd like to stay and watch this, I should go." Now I'm checking the door for Castiel and terrified I'm going to see him there, piercing me with his steel blue eyes before I get the chance to find him myself.

I slip out of the door and head down the stairs. Coming around the corner like a battering ram is Papa Winchester, looking just as fierce as my imagination. He's still dressed as if he's about to walk into a meeting, complete with his favorite trench coat. He's got to have a tailor that makes him endless trench coats. It's the exact same one for twenty-five years.

We stare at each other for an immeasurable amount of time. He breaks the stare off. "Come with me." His trench coat flares around him as he spins on his heel and stalks off.

"Yes, sir." I'm grateful that he seems to be taking me to a private location. He did threaten to spank me in front of everyone. I follow him to the Colt Library. It's also a bit of a playroom. Walls and walls of books, with bins of toys for the grandkids and plastic kitchen and car shop sets. There's also a very official looking desk, juxtaposition to all the rest of it. Who in this madhouse uses a desk? Do they keep it especially for Papa Winchester?

I'm not invited to have a seat, so I don't sit, but Papa Winchester does, on the edge of the desk. It takes my everything not to look a the ground and to continue to look the scary _human_ in the eyes. I was rash last night. Emotional. I allowed my worry over Dean to cloud my behavior with the Winchester family Head of House. I regret. Oh how I regret. I'll be lucky to get a spanking. Maybe this meeting is him telling me I'm being sent home. Fuck. Oh fuck. I'm being sent home aren't I?

"Calm down, Michael. I didn't know angels could hyperventilate." This amuses him.

I'm not actually hyperventilating. Yet. "I'm sorry for my behavior last night, sir. I was concerned for Dean." I'm not sure I can say I won't do it again, but I think it's best to leave that out.

"You did not conduct yourself in the mature manner I expect from you and we are going to deal with that. Our situation is unusual. Dean is still a child and you are, well, you. But I've watched you 'grow up,' therefore I consider you both children. I go back and forth on this one sometimes, but not anymore. I don't know if it's the angel-brand Modlenol, or something else, but in many ways, I feel as if you've still got a lot of growing up to do—despite your millennia."

It's far from a compliment and I know what he's saying without saying it. Castiel likes to put things into boxes; he needs categories for things. I understand this, because I'm the same. Right now, Dean and I don't have a category, we're undefined. That drives types like Castiel and like me mental. If I were a human twenty-five, it would be easy to put me in the kid category since I'm younger than he is. I'm not a human twenty-five. My age is non-descript. It's probably conflicting for him to call me a child. But, uh, I guess not after last night.

There is no conflict for me. I _definitely_ blame the Modlenol, at least to some extent. I see Papa Winchester as a superior no matter how many times I've made the mistake of posturing around him. But even Tom is leery of the man, so I'd say it's a pretty good bet he's also intimidating. "Yes, sir."

"Back to yes, sir today I see."

I scratch the back of my head like I've seen Dean do when he doesn't have anything more to offer than he already has to explain his behavior. "I was out of line last night. Sir."

"I'm glad you realize that. It will save my voice the lecture I don't feel like giving, but it doesn't change that we need to create some new boundaries. Sit, Michael."

I try not to groan. I'm relieved I get to sit, it's less nerve-wrecking than standing before him, but this means I could be here years. "You are well aware I do not like the situation between you and Dean. I barely approve of it. I do it against my better judgment."

I swallow. Fuck. It's over, isn't it? "Yes, sir."

"But overall, I have seen an improvement in both of you. It's taken some time, I imagine more work is eminent, but having Sam and me for guides has already proved valuable for you both. Much better than the way Sam and I did things. In fact, you two on your own, were in some ways much like we were. A disaster. You reached out sooner than we did and it was a good move. A mature move. I can only be proud."

He must mean Dean. He'd never mean me.

He clears his throat. "Of both of you Michael."

My whole body gets warm. I can barely contain myself and shift in my seat. I'm blushing in a new way now. I feel like I've just found the secret to human life. Can praise from this man really feel this, _good?_

"Thank you, sir," I mumble.

"But until you two are adults, I'm the only alpha around here. Do we understand each other?"

 _Probably even then._ "Yes, sir." If I could pass out, I think I would have by now.

"If I say something, I expect to be obeyed, but in your case, I've realized I like seeing that little bit of that defiance which shows you're brave enough to do what you feel is right for my son, no matter the injury to your own person. One of the reasons I sometimes consider approving of you at all, is because you bring value to the table that I just don't have. Your angel Intel. And I will admit, sometimes your insight with Dean has proved useful. But last night was not one of those times."

"Yes, sir."

"You were disrespectful. Belligerent. Immature. Am I missing anything?"

To keep my hands busy, I fiddle with one of the buttons on the light-cotton black and white shirt Nana Colt outfitted me in. I hate fucking up. I hate having my fuck-ups listed even more. "Irrational, sir."

"Thank you. Irrational. Did you mean what you said about accepting punishment?"

"Of course, sir. Anything you deem fit." It can't be worse than anything my father gives, can it? I want to pay what's owed and not have Papa Winchester look at me like that anymore.

"Be honest. I know you didn't know what you were getting yourself into, saying such things. I was in a bad mood last night and liable to threaten spankings to anything that moved the wrong way. I know tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb have advised you not to walk out of such a bargain with me and they would be right, but in this case, I think it's only fair to make sure, since you didn't know. I won't judge you Michael. I mean that. Sam wasn't punished by my father until after our wedding. I know there's likely not to be a wedding for you and Dean and I would appreciate you accepting that term at least by the time Dean reaches college if you plan on staying together, but it doesn't have to be now."

I blink at him, unsure of what to say. I figured he couldn't wait to get his hands on me. I didn't expect him to be so reasonable.

"I will be hard on you Michael. Very hard. This is my son we're talking; I won't let any yahoo be my son's head of house. You can be sure I will let nothing slide, including last night."

"I-I thought you said you liked defiance in the interest of taking care of your son?"

"I do. I appreciate your devotion, but you will learn how to defer to me, or suffer the consequences. Does that mean you're out?"

The one thing I know for certain, is that Castiel Winchester is a man of his word. He means it. I won't be judged; we'll carry on as we have been. It's easy and tempting to just say I'm out and not go through with punishment. I hate being punished. It's humiliating. I accept it though, because I'm not going to be out, no matter what. I know this means a lot to Dean. It's one way I can show him how committed I am to him. It's the only reason I do anything anyway. Everyone knows that by know. Everyone except Dean that is. I still hold hope he'll figure it out someday. "No, sir. I mean yes, sir. Dammit. Sorry, I mean, I'm in sir. When it comes to Dean, I'm all the way in. Always."

You think a statement like that would get me some iota of that 'proud' sentiment he gave me just a moment ago, but it appears I'm going to have to work a lot harder for golden nuggets like those. Instead, he's turned into a hawk. A very protective Papa hawk (if there is such a thing) who's just had someone peck at his nest. "I hope you mean that, Michael." He casually removes his trench coat and places it over the chair behind the desk as I try to figure out why that creates feelings of impending doom in my human vessel and shift in my seat.

"I'm going to work hard not to simply send you away on all matters Dean. You'll be included, unless I feel it's a purely parental matter. In that case it will be me and Sam and you'll acquiesce with what we decide, but I will not exclude you as I did last night."

It's hard to remind my human vessel to act like it's breathing. Is this really happening? "Yes, sir."

"But you will not act like a teenage idiot."

He begins rolling up his sleeves as I begin gripping the leather of the chair I'm sitting in. "I won't, sir. Never again."

"Just to make sure, I'm going to spank you."

"Is that really necessary, sir?" I didn't meant to say it; I can't believe I said it. So far this is going horribly. I imagined my first spanking from Papa Winchester (because it was inevitable) to have a lot more stoicism on my part.

"It's necessary. It's better to get your first time over with anyway."

"This isn't my first time. Daddy Winchester's had me over his knee several times."

"Do I look like 'Daddy Winchester?'"

"No, sir." No doubt he won't spank like him either.

"Speaking of Daddy Winchester, the effect of his spankings don't seem to last as long as I want this one to. What do I have to use Michael?"

"Oh, c'mon. I have to implicate myself?"

That gets me a small smile. "Yes. Gee Michael, I had no idea you'd be so scared of a little spanking."

Since when does he use words like 'gee?' "I'm not. That will do just fine," I say looking my eyes toward his belt.

"Really?"

"Really. I don't have a lot of grace. I heal faster than a human, but far slower than an angel. One hundred good ones should ensure I 'feel it' for a good two or three days."

"'Till tomorrow will do." He begins sliding the belt from the loops of his pants. "Stand up, jeans off and over the desk please."

I would, except I feel glued to the chair. Nana Colt's given me a healthy selection of Colt-style clothing, which I now feel ridiculous in. I'm embarrassed by the number holes in these jeans and now I've got to stand up and take them off in front of him—there's not much to take off. I manage to pry myself from the leather, undo the pants and take them off, slinging them over the chair I wish I could go back to sitting in. I place myself over the desk resting on my elbows and forearms.

I feel him looming above me and it's not long before I feel his fingers sliding under the elastic of the waistband of my Saxx. I jump up. "Wait! I-I—"

"What's going on Michael? Do you think I'm going to beat you?"

"No."

"Then what's the problem?" His voice is much softer than it usually is with me.

"Dean's always so afraid of earning a spanking from you. I can't exactly figure out why, but there must be some reason."

"Dean is a drama queen. Sometimes, he even asks for spankings."

I know both of those to be true.

"Stop stalling, Michael."

"Okay, I'm sorry."

He's still looking at me, probably because I still haven't gone back into position. "Michael, I'm going to take good care of you. You're one of us now."

"I am?"

"According to…Daddy Winchester, you always have been."

I don't know what to say to that either. Most of this talk has left me speechless.

"C'mon now, let's get this over with. You have five extra coming for breaking position already. Don't make me wait any longer."

Extra? I get into position. It's nothing. Just a little strapping. Nothing to worry about. This time I let him pull my Saxx underwear down to my ankles. "Breathe Michael."

"I don't _actually,_ breathe."

"Do it anyway."

I take a deep breath and on the exhale, I'm surprised when I feel his hand for a solid twenty or so. It's not nearly as bad as Dean makes it out to be. He really is a drama queen. "You okay, Michael?"

"I'm fine, sir." I really mean that.

"Good. I'm going to start with this," he says tapping the strap on my warmed rear lightly. "We need to talk a bit more first."

"Talk? Can't we just get this over with? I know what this is for." I want this done.

He lets one fly on my ass and this one is nothing like the gentle hits with his hand. "Ow." It's hard to resist rubbing it, but I refuse to show anymore weakness than I have already.

"That one doesn’t count. Let's go over the rules for punishments, first, shall we? Any objections? No? Good. First rule, you know it now, what is it?"

"Remain in position, sir."

"Correct." He awards me with five from his strap. I have to grit my teeth. They're nothing like my father's angel blade, but they aren't pleasant. "Can you guess what number two is?"

"You run this show, sir."

"Correct." Five more. "I will not be goaded into punishment. I actually expect you to learn something, Michael. This isn't like your father's torture. What he does to you is torture, not punishment."

That's what brings the first tears to my eyes. Dammit. Too many human emotions. I've been near-human way too long. I nod not wanting to speak and give myself away. "The other rule is, once the punishment is meted out, it's over Michael. The slate is wiped. No need for guilt. We won't talk about the transgression again, unless of course you're foolish enough to display the same sort of behavior you did last night. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." I won't. I'm never earning another spanking again.

"I won't tolerate belligerence Michael." Each word is punctuated with more firm hits with his belt. "Especially not from you. Until you move into the adult category, you will think of yourself as my understudy. I thought you understood this? I'm disappointed we had to have this conversation at all."

The spanking definitely doesn't feel good. I'm finding it hard to remain still, but it's the lecture that's really hitting me. Disappointed? That implies that he was satisfied at one point and now he's not. I don't like that.

"Explain."

"I know. I do know better, sir. I just, I freaked out. Over reacted. I can't handle Dean being sick."

"Dean needs a Top that can control his emotions. You need to be his rock Michael. That's what I want to see you work on Michael. Control."

He makes me sound like an emotional firecracker. "Yes, sir."

"That's where my concerns lie with you. You allow your emotions for Dean to cloud your judgment. You do stupid things even though you're an intelligent, celestial being. I expect you to act like it. Lucky for you, I've been known to have the same problem. I can help you Michael, but you need to talk to me. Until you learn to do that, you're going to have a very sore bottom."

 _No. No I'm not. Anything and everything Papa Winchester says, goes from this moment forward._ He is doing a thorough job on said bottom; I only need this the one time thank you. I'm only able to remain as still as I am because of the beatings I've had from my father. _At least they were good for something._ "I'll learn to control my emotions, sir. Promise!" I may, or may not have shrieked that last word.

He's quiet after that. Nothing but the sound of his swinging strap and the sound of it hitting my bare, ass. I can't help, but keep count. He reaches fifty-five before he lets me up. Fifty-five, solid, hard swats. "Okay, Michael. Stand up. You may replace your clothing, then I want you to sit."

Sit? How the hell am I supposed to sit? My vessel's eyes are burning with unshed tears as the skin on my ass burns and I contemplate just how I'm going to sit while I pull up my Saxx, gingerly and am now grateful for Nana Colt's loose jeans selection. I look at the chair, then back to him; his hard eyes tell me I'm not about to get clemency. I put a hand on each arm of the chair and gingerly lower myself down. Now I'm in complete agreement with Dean. I can see why this whole thing is horrible. I've no wish to relive this. Not only does it hurt, but knowing how much you've let this man down is somehow unbearable. I know he said that once the spanking's over, it's over, but it doesn't feel over. The feeling that's spread over my entire ass is sure not going to be over after this talk is through, judging by how long it seems to be dragging out, we may go well into the next millennium.

But as I sit, looking forward to standing for the next several hours, I realize I did it. I made it through my first and most likely, my last spanking from Papa Winchester. I vow never to contract his ire again. "Thank you, sir. We shan't have to have this conversation again." I also can't help feeling pride over him taking the time to spank me. That means something in Winchester land. I'm in Winchester land. Finally.

"I hope not. Now that I've made myself clear on the topic of respect, it's only prudent I address the respect I will give in return. I will do you the courtesy of hearing you out before, I give you my answer, so long as you don't go off like a bull in a china shop—but if you do, not only can you expect punishment, but I will be far less agreeable to your request. Got it?"

"Got it, sir."

"Okay. We are done here then. I feel you adequately understand what I require from you. If not, we can have another conversation at anytime. I expect you on your best behavior."

"No more conversations will be necessary, sir. Best behavior."

"All right then."

I wipe my eyes. "May I return to keep vigil over Dean, sir?"

"If Sam allows it."

I nod. He will.

"Oh and one more thing. You'll need to apply some of this. Unless you need help?"

I recognize the stuff right away. It's the same stuff Daddy Winchester's used on me before. "Thank you, sir. I'll manage." I don't really need this stuff.

"But you will apply it?"

"Yes, sir."

**

I know Cas is in the room with Michael and I can hear they're almost done. I knock and enter. Michael's eyes are, I've-just-been-spanked-red and he's having a hard time sitting in the leather chair. "Hey Baby," Cas says. "We're all done here. Dismissed Michael."

"Yes, sir."

Michael looks so young and vulnerable right now and Cas likely gave him the Clyde Winchester treatment, or something close to it, so I do my job as Mama bear. "C'mere, pumpkin spice muffin."

"I swear, you get more Colt just from being here. Does it catch?"

I smile and pull him into a hug, so he doesn't have to decide if he'll give me one or not. He surprises me by latching onto me. Tight. "I'm sorry, Daddy Winchester. Sir." I look behind Michael at Cas, who can barely contain his smile as I continue to squeeze Michael and pat his back.

"It's fine, Michael. All over. Don't think about it anymore."

He pulls away, nodding. "May I continue to hold vigil over Dean?"

"Of course, sweetheart. He's finally asleep. Text me if you guys need anything."

Michael leaves. When the door is shut, Cas lets out a low chuckle. "That was much different than I expected. He's a top, albeit an unusual one. His behavior is likely a result from what he's already been through with his 'father.'"

Cas isn't saying it, but he's worried about Michael. Once he takes someone on, he takes them on. Fully. I don't doubt he's never going to let up on Michael, but don't let his harsh demeanor fool you. He's harsh because he cares. I learned that a long time ago with Clyde. It took me a long time and the man still manages to get under my skin, but he cares about us all more than anything.

I melt into Cas's arms and kiss him. "He'll be all right, Cassy."

"I didn't spank him for crawling into bed with Dean. Didn't even ask, but I know he did."

He feels badly too then. He'll never say it, not to Michael, but he does.

"He gets away with it once; next time, he can be spanked wherever I catch them canoodling."

I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull out our special paddle. "I'm hoping you'll do me next. I feel really bad about last night, Cas."

"Oh yeah?" he says with a smile.

"Yeah."

He accepts the paddle and places it down on the desk then flips me around so my back is to his front and reaches around to undo my jeans as he kisses my neck. "You were super naughty."

"I was. I broke at least three rules. I remember going downstairs half-naked last night." I know what that does to Cas. I feel bad for that. "I didn't bother arranging for Dean to go to Church." I feel bad for that too. I'm sure Clyde will ream him out if he hasn’t already. "And, I, uh, the phone thing." That one…I feel bad for worrying him, but the phone rule is the bane of my existence. I still get spanked for that every so often.

He yanks my jeans down to my knees. "Nice try with the paddle Sam," he says still kissing my neck.

"No spanking?"

He spins me again, this time with me ending up over his knee—he's got a leather shoed foot up on the leather arm chair, his knee bent to ninety degrees and me over that knee. My boxers are quickly gone and he reaches back at an odd angle to retrieve the paddle. "You're definitely getting a spanking for the church thing and the phone thing, but I've got something else in mind for the other thing."

I groan from over his lap. I know what he wants to do. "C'mon Cas. I'd rather be spanked. Please. I'm sorry."

" _I'd_ rather you wear one of my super fun chastity belts."

"Ow. Yes, sir." He continues spanking me 'till he sure he's made an impression, but he's not as heavy-handed as he usual is for such an offence. Church is a pretty big one.

"What's the deal, Cassy?" I say when I'm standing up and he's helping me return my clothes. I don't question Cas's punishment decisions anymore, but I need to know, else I'll continue to feel guilty.

"This is mostly my fault. I should have been here. You guys needed me."

"You had to work, Cas."

"I know. I still feel responsible, Baby. This is my way of making it up to you, you know that."

I do. Unlike Michael, I can let this go because Cas said so. It'll be harder for Michael. Different. We're wired differently and, I've had lots of practice. "So are you done handing out spankings then? Maybe we can have a little more fun before the baby wakes up again?"

"Again. Nice try. You're in chastity. You may not be wearing it yet, but it starts now."

"Hey, there are still plenty of things I can do to you. And are you sure you're done spanking me, Cassy? I think you missed a few spots."

"I did, did I?"

"Meet you upstairs?"

He takes my hand. "Let's go together."

**

"How's Dean doing?" Sam's father asks anyone who will answer. Dean isn't present at dinner. Last I checked, he was asleep. All of us took turns all day looking after him. The poor boy's been poulticed, soup brothed and essential oiled almost to death. So many people were worriedly checking up on him and bombarding him with their remedies, I had to ban everyone from the room, except for myself and Sam, so he could get some sleep. Michael wasn't happy about that, but he didn't argue. Now, it's Adelaide, Samuel Sr., Dallas, Christian, Michael, Sam and I at the dinner table.

Christian and Michael are fidgety. Dallas spanked Christian for something, but they're not sharing what. Sam, the veteran is too, but only I can spot it. He does his fidgeting, in time with his natural movements. They're more frequent than usual. I went easy on him during his punishment, but we had some more R-rated fun upstairs. Sam can also be quiet when he wants to be. I'm a lucky man. There's also the matter of the chastity device I put on him. Much as Sam still claims not to like it, it turns him on. I'm sure his problems don't end with a sore ass.

There is still business to take care of. I have to meet with Father, then all Tops have to meet with Father, but for tonight we can all settle in. Finally relax.

"Doing a little better," Sam answers. "Dr. Fred couldn't come by today, but he'll be by tomorrow. I did speak with him though. He says it sounds like a stomach virus, which come on strong for twenty-four hours and should be gone by tomorrow. He'll come by anyway with some stuff to boost his immune system."

"Don't tell me you have a witch doctor in every county?" Michael says.

"Of course I do."

"Mama's always had some kind of healer," Dallas adds. "Which reminds me, we should take you to get attuned," he says to Christian.

"A-what?"

"Attuned, an attunement."

"Not helpful, Dals."

"You're cute when you're confused," Dallas says kissing Christian.

"The healers Sam and his family see believe if you're attuned, it assists with healing," I tell my brother.

"Don't listen to them. I've had it done and it never helped me," Michael says.

"It has so," Sam says. "It's nothing to worry about, Chris. I'll get Dr. Fred to do it for you when he comes by tomorrow. It only takes a second."

"Wait, does that mean I'm seein' this voodoo witch doctor now?"

"You don't gotta quit your other doctor, but yeah, I'd like it if you did," Dallas says gently, but we can all tell it's important to him.

"'Course I will, baby. I just don't know anything about attunements and things."

"Oh, you're about to," Michael says.

"Enough from the Peanut Gallery, Michael," I tell him. He's been 'comfortable' since I spanked him. He must have taken my 'you're one of us' speech to heart. Even his sour comments manage to have a happy flavor.

"I want to talk wedding," Mama Colt pipes up. "We've still got Cas and Sammy's birthdays. Usually that's our end of your trip send off. Where should we fit the wedding in?"

"Mama, don't worry about our birthdays, Cas and I will go for dinner or something."

Either taking care of Dean's exhausted him, or I did earlier. You don't say something like that to Mama Colt. "What nonsense you talking? I oughta turn you over my knee."

Sam has never been spanked by his mama if you can believe it. Sam shakes his head and throws his hands up in surrender. "Just trying to make it easier Mama."

"It's all easy," she says as Samuel Sr. rolls his eyes. "This is what we'll do, we'll have it mid-month, week before the Church Fundraiser."

I nod over to Sam and remind him with my eyes how small of a role he's playing in the Wuthering County Church Fundraiser. "That's fine with us, Mama. Will that work for you two?"

Dallas stares dreamily into Christian's eyes and Christian into Dallas's. They both nod at the same time and kiss. Holy Moses. I've never seen these two like this.

We're all interrupted when Dean, looking thin, pale and pissed off, stumbles into the kitchen. All he's got on is a pair of boxer shorts and a black tank top. "Dean Bean, what are you doing out of bed?"

"I want some juice," he rasps out. He sounds awful.

Sam slides his chair out before anyone else does and heads for the fridge. "You should have just text one of us."

"I tried, but looking at the screen was making me want to puke."

"Walking around doesn't make you want to puke?" That's Michael.

"It was the lesser of two evils."

I'm closest to him, so I get up to put an arm under him and save him falling over. "You're too weak to be out of bed, Angel."

Dean ducks his head onto my shoulder. "I'm lonely up there Papa."

"You should be sleeping," Sam says without mercy. I've suddenly become the softie with Mama bear on the prowl. "Come on."

"Can't I sit here with you guys? Please? I'll lean against Michael."

"No. To bed. Go," Sam says gesturing toward the stairs.

Dean looks at me with pleading green eyes. Sam and I are a team. I may be Head of House, but I would never overrule him once he's given Dean an instruction like that without an amazingly good reason. But he looks so sick and small and miserable, I can't help doing something I know will cheer him up. "Michael, your assistance please."

Dean smiles huge. Sam's jaw drops. Michael's quick to scoop Dean up bridal-style. "Michael can stay with you, he'll take good care of you, or answer to me."

"Thank you Papa," Dean croaks in his raspy, sick voice.

Sam hands Dean his juice and Michael swoops out of the kitchen with him. Sam makes eyes at me like he's going to scold me, but he can't go through with it. His face breaks into a smile as wide as Dean's. "You spoil him, Castiel Winchester." It's our turn to out-sap the almost-newlyweds. I look at Sam, so intensely, he blushes and has to look away. I use his chin to turn his face toward me and lay one on him.


	30. Dean's Brat Day or Everybody Wants to Spank Dean, but Only Papa Gets To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This chapter. As a few have noticed, I have not updated this story in awhile. There are a few reasons. I won't bore you with all the reasons, but the one I will mention is that this is a real turning point in the story. I've actually had this written for _months_ and have been sitting on it. The scene came to me over a year ago when I first began musing WW and I've been excited to write it. That being said, I've built it up in my head so much, I'm nervous about it. 
> 
> There is going to be some angst here. Not too much, but enough I feel I should say something. The _real_ angst for this story happens after Texas. I will give you a carrot. Our time with Brad is coming to an end _very_ soon. 
> 
> Okay, I _hope_ I still have interest for this story, but even if I don't, I'll keep posting! I'm enjoying this story. We're about halfway (it's a long story). 
> 
> Again, I have to thank Ibelieve333. She gave me the advice to work on one story for a bit and I've been doing that and it's helped my muse so much. So I'll be over here with the Winchesters for a little bit. 
> 
> Finally, I got close to SKL's "Everybody Spanks Dean" chapter title from long ago, but didn't really hit the mark. Sorry SKL! 
> 
>   **Updates: (if you want them, if not, just head to the chapter if you haven't already)**
> 
>  I have been working on my new short story, which is just over half way done. 
> 
> For You is on my "muse radar" which means I will likely be working on it this coming weekend. 
> 
> GUW--A chapter of this will be written. Soon. I promise. I don't know that I can say when, but I'm really missing little!Dean.

"I know a certain Dean Winchester, who's going to get a spanking if he doesn't watch his tone and get out of my hair."

"To be fair, you do have a lot of hair, Daddy and you can't say it like that. You're supposed to at least guise it as if you're talking about another Winchester." Michael's looking at me like I'm suicidal, which I just might be this morning You really have to be a pest to get on Daddy's nerves enough for him to tell you to get out of his hair, especially if you're the aforementioned Dean Winchester, resident apple of his eye. I am being a pest. I've been holed up in this joint for too long and I want fucking out. Yes I know this is not the way to get out and only a sure way to get in trouble, but the lack of discipline while being sick has me feeling risky when I shouldn't.

It's fucking Castle of Warwick around here—between Michael and Daddy and Papa and even Uncle Dal. Thankfully, it's also been busy around here. Daddy is helping Auntie Georgia with the upcoming Church fundraiser, working hard to stick to the rules Papa's laid down for him. Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris are busy with wedding plans, but they both made time to see me while I was sick. Papa's trying to keep an eye on everyone as well as in keep them sorted and Michael's just Michael. No. Actually he's not and it's weird.

He's still the same OCD level control freak we all know and love, but he's not as much of a dick. He's more like, like he was when we were younger.

To my misfortune, Papa's coming into the kitchen at just the point in time I'm lipping Daddy off (it could come across as joking versus mouthing off, which is what I went for, but even I have to admit, yeah, I'm being a sassy so-and-so). Papa's really done with my attitude after listening to it while I'm sick. I try to swing my ass out of target range, but Papa's aim has not dimmed one watt with age. I get a decent swat to my ass, Michael doesn't feel sorry for me one bit. "That's enough attitude, Mr. Winchester. I suggest you remember who you're talking to. That's the only warning you're getting."

I don't like Papa upset with me, I zero like it, and normally one swat is enough to make me stand at attention, but right now, with the mood I'm in, I can't help myself. (Hey, we all have our days) "Well he's driving me crazy too. Every one is, I want out of here."

Fuck. I immediately feel like a heel. I can tell I've hurt Daddy's feelings and Papa is not amused. Actually, not amused in an understatement. Suddenly I do remember who I'm talking to, who I just talked to like a little brat. Papa has exactly zero tolerance for open defiance like that. _Dean Winchester, thy name is idiot._ "Papa, I'm sorry, I—"

Too late. He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me over to the kitchen table, sliding out a chair for himself to sit on. "Pants down, Dean. Now."

I look around wretchedly. Daddy's by the sink, glad I'm being dealt with, wishing he got to do it himself, Michael's across the table getting a full view of the proceedings, telling me I deserve what I'm getting. I feel it important to mention, that both have seen Papa spank me before, but I'm still just as alarmed over getting spanked here in the kitchen; anyone could walk in at anytime and I mean _anyone._ My cheeks are hot and I feel a bit of a panicked rush, somewhere in the middle of _just get it over with, 'cause it's going to happen, the faster it's over, the less likely anyone is to see_ and _maybe if I stall long enough, he'll change his mind if Nana walks in._ The latter, would never happen. I know that. What would happen, is one Hell of a spanking in front of Nana. This is the number one reason I'm usually careful not to lip off my parents. While they wouldn't spank me just anywhere, there are certain venues that are no holds barred; The Colt's is one of them. They're a 'spanking' family too, if in a different way than the Winchesters. "Papa, I'm sorry, I was out of line."

"On that we can agree. And since you want to continue to defy me, pass me a spoon please, Samuel."

Fuck, this has disastrously slipped away from me, reaching Def-con five. "Okay. _Okay!_ " It's too late of course, to evade the wooden spoon, but I undo the button on my jeans and pull them down, along with my boxers and place myself over his lap before he decides anything else is appropriate. I feel like the whole house can hear his hand on my ass, it's loud and hurt-y and followed too soon by the wooden spoon from Nan's drawer. It's a quick spanking, but thorough and Papa didn't spare any sting, or any surface back there—he's not pleased.

Sometimes I'm lectured over his knee, often actually, but this time it's as I'm doing my pants back up and sniffling. "Unacceptable, Dean. Totally, completely unacceptable. I won't have it. If you're well enough to throw tantrums, you can have spankings for them. Daddy and I told you no, that doesn't mean pester Daddy and drive him crazy and it certainly doesn't mean talking back to me."

I'm red faced and ashamed. "I know Papa, I'm sorry," I say in a pathetic way that I'm hoping will get me a little sympathy. I get none.

"Sit down, there. You'd better be here when I get back." As if I would move after Papa's told me not to and after a spanking like that (my ass smarts) but I guess he's not sure with the way I'm acting this morning. Like a whirlwind, Papa flurries out of the kitchen and I sit while wiping my eyes feeling miserable for having upset him and Daddy. At least Michael's amused.

Daddy puts toast, eggs and coffee before me. "A spanking before breakfast, Dean?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

He ruffles my hair. "It's okay, you probably needed that, but why you push rather than just ask, I'll never know."

"That's just my way I guess, Daddy." It's true. I have a hard time asking, for spankings. Not that I never have, or never will again, but pushing is my preferred method. It's not Daddy's, but that's where we're a bit different. I lean into, Michael feeling less antsy than I did a few moments ago. I know Michael likes 'my way.' I'm a brat, but he likes my bratness even if he won't exactly say so. Most of the time.

"Lordy Bee, Dean Daniel. Eat your breakfast and behave yourself. In case you haven't noticed, Papa's been worried about you and not getting much sleep. He's in a spank first, ask questions later kind of mood, so unless you want a repeat performance, keep a civil tongue."

I don't want a repeat performance. "Yes, Daddy."

Daddy pours himself a coffee and brings some to Michael when he sits down with us. "Thank you Daddy Winchester and I volunteer my babysitting services, should you decide to cut his reins and allow him to roam free."

"I don't need a babysitter, Michael," I say.

"I know Michael," Daddy says, ignoring me. "You've always watched over him expertly." Looks like Michael's the favorite this morning. I decide to stay out of it and eat my breakfast like I've been told. "Rest the morning sweetheart and I'll think about springing you by lunch."

When Papa returns, I can barely look at him. I can feel his steely eyes on me. "S-sorry, Papa," I work up the courage to say.

Papa helps himself to coffee. "You're forgiven Dean, there's no need for the woeful puppy act." He crooks a finger at me. "C'mere."

Thank Christ. I almost run to him (I would but he doesn't approve of running in the house) and throw myself at him. He squeezes me tight. "You're all wound up this morning. You needed that."

I nod into him. I did, he's right. I feel better. I've been pushing. Been in a bad mood 'cause of being sick and certain conversations with angels are weighing on my mind, irritating me and leaving an unsettling feeling in my stomach. I may have taken advantage of being sick, knowing no one will spank me, or otherwise. But Papa's quickly put me in my place.

"I'm not convinced that you're not still in need of some firmer structure. I'm not allowing you act like that, young man."

"I know, sir. Thank you." I know him and Daddy are having secret conversations over my head. I'm fine. I'm really fine. I don't know why they're both so worried about me. Papa pushes my hair back and kisses my forehead. Fuck I missed him and I'm glad he's home. I love Papa's solidness; it's nice to enjoy it when I don't feel like death warmed over.

Daddy keeps his promise and by noon, I'm sprung. "You take it easy, Sur you've just been cleared for activities."

"I will make sure he doesn’t overwork himself, sir. You can be certain he's safe with me. Who knows what kind of trouble he'd get into on his own?"

"Michael, I require your presence in a meeting at three. Be here," Papa says.

"Yes, sir."

"Dean, you obey your daddy. Take it easy." His eyes a stern and hold an 'or else.'

"I will Papa."

Michael gives me one of his patented smirks, knowing I'm Papa's spoiled one, but also that he does mean business. In any case, once my feet hit the grass, I want to run. "Slow down," Michael says taking my hand. My hand. Like we're some kind of couple. No, that can't be it. More like he's treating me like a fucking little kid. That's all I really am to him, isn't it?

"I'm not a fucking five-year-old, Michael," I say swiping my hand away. Unfortunately for me, that's the moment Uncle Dal walks up the path with Uncle Chris.

Uncle Dal's eyebrows raise then frown. "What was that I just heard Dean Daniel?"

"Uh, Hi Uncle Dal. Didn't see you there. Sorry." I pull out my best Dean eyes.

"Don't worry Dallas, I've got this one," Michael says recapturing my hand. Firmly. I can't compete with angel strength.

Uncle Dal shakes his head, but it's in resignation. He tousles my hair. "Be a good boy half pint." I get a bright smile from him. Uncle Chris is just barely keeping himself from laughing. He's known to be very Winchester-y himself, but if someone else is handling the situation, he rather sit back and be a brat about it. Unless you're on his nerves then watch out.

But it's like every one thinks I'm up to something. I'm not. I was having a bad couple of days and that's it; I swear. Besides, trouble follows me, it's not _my_ fault. "Wait, how exactly did you two get by Sammy without hats?" Uncle Dal asks.

That's a good question. How _did_ we get by Daddy without hats? Uncle Chris gives me his hat, which is actually Uncle Dal's prized Kenny Chesney hat. He's kept it in good condition a long time. Uncle Dal twists his lips at Uncle Chris. "I'll get one inside Dals, don't go worrying your pretty head."

"You will. And I can too," Uncle Dal says, placing his black hat on Michael. The disdain on Michael's face because he's being fussed over is priceless, but he doesn't say a word. But I get fussing too, in the form of Uncle Dal's hand to the forehead I have to fight not to roll my eyes about.

"Daddy already checked me and Papa saw fit to spank me, Uncle Dal. I'm okay."

"Before breakfast, Half pint?"

"Yeah. Before breakfast." As if that's anything to alert the paper about. Why is everyone so shocked?

Uncle Dal's not satisfied and I get a little worried he's going to send me back in the house. "You're keeping both eyes on him, Michael?"

Hey! Okay, I'm not actually surprised. Yeah I'm bothered and everyone can tell, but they also know some fresh air will do me good.

"Yes, sir."

Uncle Dal relaxes. "You'll come to me if you need to, before you do something silly, won't you, Half pint?"

Jeez! Warwick. That's this place. "I will, sir."

We're finally dismissed. I allow Michael to continue to hold my hand and pretend it's not because he's just being an over-protective so and so. Nana and Grandaddy Colt's property has a long path that leads out to the road. We have to pass through a section of tall billowy trees and fucking thankfully, there's a bit of a breeze today. It's hot.

"You'd better not be taking me to that sleazy teen hang out."

"I'm not. You think I'm that stupid? Uncle Dal would be pissed." I still remember the spanking.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Just around. Aren't you glad to be out of there? I was getting serious cabin fever. I would think you'd like a break from all the Colting."

"I like having order. I don't like not having a destination."

"C'mon Michael. Relax."

"Maybe you haven't met me. And if I'm going to relax, I'm going to relax partaking in the Michael fun spankings I'm still owed."

"Haven't you forgot about those by now?"

"I don't forget. You know that. Did that flu give you amnesia?"

I look at the ground and pout. He's different Michael and the same Michael but it looks like he's not going to be fun Michael today. He pulls me to him suddenly, his lips press to mine, his tongue slides in and I’m all at once wrapped up in Michael, _when am I not?_ and not feeling like a little kid to him now.

"What was that for?" I say when we pull away.

"Do I need a reason?"

"No but," sigh, "all this is fucking playing with my head. It's only been a few days and already, I feel like…I'm feeling like…"

"Out with it Dean." His eyes are a deeper blue, nostrils flared. "You also know I don't play guessing games."

I do know that and Papa's been harping at length about maturity. There's nothing more mature in relationships than talking about what's bothering you. I'm pretty sure. "You want out with it? Here it is. We have an open relationship and I'm fine with that," most days, "but doing this," I gesture between our hands, "fucks with my head. Makes me feel too couple-ly."

"I thought you liked that."

"I do Michael, which is why it's a fucking problem. We shouldn't be this couple-like."

"I was under the impression that we made the rules for our relationship."

"We do. I say no more of this stuff."

"As you wish."

"Stop that."

"What am I doing now?"

"That. Agreeing with everything I say."

"Do you want me to disagree with everything you say?"

"No, I just. Fuck." Being mature is fucking hard. Especially when I don't know what the fuck I want.

"Am I supposed to disagree with what you want? Or not? I'm losing my fucking patience Dean."

Somehow _that's_ closer to what I want. "What do you want?"

"What do I want? I want you to do what I fucking tell you for once _without_ arguing with me. I want you to not throw a fit when I fuck someone else and conversely when I do 'couple-ly' things with you because that messes with _my_ head and my patience."

We both seethe at each other for an immeasurable amount of time. I ball my fists and he does his best to look impassive. I take some breaths though and I calm the fuck down. I decide I know just what will fix the problem. "This is good. I'm actually a lot clearer. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. I just wanted to make sure you're good, so I could, you know, hook up with whoever, again."

"That would be fine." But he says it like he's not fine. _What the fuck is up with him?_

Well if he's not going to tell me, I'm going to _make_ him tell me. Like Papa said, we need to learn better communication skills.

"What about Bradley?" he says clearly just having thought of it. Also he never calls Brad, Bradley.

"I told you, he's out. He's cramping my style."

"I don't know. I think you should give him another chance."

Now I should give him another chance? He hates Brad. I shrug. "I'm going to have new rules, or I guess, I'm going to go back to my old rules. One night is all anyone gets with me."

"N-not me." It's the smallest of slips, but it's a slip.

"No I don't mean you. We're still us. We just have to do this right. All this Brad stuff has made me realize some things."

"Like what?"

"I don't fit in the so called 'norm'. I'm not like my parents that way."

"You're parents aren't exactly normal, Dean."

"They're normal compared to me. I like what we have. It's who I am, who I've been all along." No one's out and said it, but I've picked up that old Dean never settled down with one special person. I try to get him thinking along those lines.

He studies me a moment before answering. "Good."

"It is. It's what you want, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Then we have no problems."

"None. But no hand holding?"

"No hand holding," I say.

"And you're going to sleep with more people."

"As per our agreement."

"Perfect."

"Glad we got that squared away. Let's go get something to eat."

**

We're on our way back from what was a pretty tense lunch from a small diner. Nan and Grandaddy live out in the country, we're kinda a ways from town, but the diner isn't exactly in town, but it is a ways from Nan and Grandaddy's. There are many farms in between and houses. Of course, even though we're out in the middle of almost nowhere, who should come prancing up to us on a fucking horse? Brad.

He's wearing his letter jacket, nothing under it and a pair of jeans. Brown cowboy hat atop his head. What kind of a douchebag wears a letter jacket with nothing underneath and rides a horse? Better question. Why am I dating the sort of douche who wears a letter jacket with nothing else and rides a horse? _Not for long._

"Howdy cowboy. Hi Michael," he says.

Immediately they're both posturing. I can feel their alpha-male energy practically wrapping around me. They're just short of growling at the other. I feel charged having the two of them this worked up over me. "Bradley."

I step in front of Michael. "What are you doing here, Brad? I told you I was sick."

"Yeah, you look real sick. I was coming to bring you soup."

"On a horse?"

"It was a nice day."

Damn. Can't help it though. Brad is hot. It makes me regret not having fucked him. And that cock. You know? It couldn't hurt to give it one last college try. "I was really sick, you can ask my daddy if you don't believe me. This is the first day I've been allowed out. I was gonna call you."

"Well now you're out, how about you hop on and we go for a ride." Brad swoops off his horse like Zorro and stands his hulky body, which has the slightest sheen of sweat (he really shouldn't be wearing that jacket on such a hot day), down beside me. Without me wanting them to, my knees go weak.

"Oh, well Michael and I were—"

"—Michael was just heading for a meeting with your father. I think you should spend some quality time with Bradley here. Bradley, have him home by dinner."

"But Michael—"

"Oh sorry, I forgot." He snaps his fingers toward _Bradley._ "The jacket. _Now._ "

Without question, because Michael is a scary, Archangel when he wants to be, even if Brad doesn't know it, his jacket is off and given to Michael leaving him half naked. Michael puts the jacket on me like I'm three again and he's helping me get dressed. "What the hell are you doing Michael?"

"There," he says once I'm outfitted. Without warning, he lifts me from my hips, easily and it's embarrassing ('cause he makes it look like I weigh nothing) onto Brad's horse. I give Michael the glare of all glares.

"Is this because of our conversation?" Because I can't fathom any other reason he'd risk my parent's wrath in letting me out of his sight, even for a short time.

"Not at all, duckling. Be home in a couple hours." He leaves off the 'or else,' but it's there every bit that Papa's was earlier, then he spins his ridiculous self around and heads back on his own. I can't help watching his ass in those jeans and more than that, feel like he's something I can never reach, which makes him walking away from me feel like he's leaving me, especially after our "heated discussion."

"Man. He sure is weird."

"I can't argue with that."

Brad gets on the horse from behind me and takes the reigns. "Hey! I was driving."

"You know I drive darlin'." He does? Is that supposed to be some kind of relationship metaphor? "Besides, I know you come here every summer, but that ain't enough to really learn to ride."

I'm not in the best mood as it is; he's just pushed my fucking buttons. _He's going to fucking regret that._ "Hey, can you do me a favor, Babe?"

"Anything."

"I left my cell phone with Michael, can you run over to him and grab it for me?" Bet he regrets saying 'anything' right now.

"Yeah, I can do that," he huffs. I smile and bat my eyelashes like the fucking June Cleaver he wants me to be.

He hops off. Perfect. I was worried he'd just take the horse over, but I was banking on the fact that Michael's not that far away yet; because yeah, _you_ know what I'm going to do. I let him get far enough he's almost met up with Michael. Then, "Hiyah!"

He hears me, but it's too late for him. "Dean!"

I start galloping away, not looking back. I'm miles away by the time I feel my phone buzz, because contrary to Brad's assessment, I'm a good fucking rider. Grampa Winchester made sure of it. I'm able to ride her hard, through some rougher terrain and shortcuts, to get away from them. From both of them, not just Brad. Yeah I fucking started it like I always do, but like always, like it will fucking always be, Michael and I aren't right, therefore I don't feel right.

When I think I'm far enough away I look behind me. I can't see either of them. I pull out my phone. Michael. _You're in big fucking trouble Dean!_

Yeah. I will be later, but for now, I want some fucking peace and quiet. There's an old looking barn up ahead. _There's my place._ I know Michael will be going fucking ballistic with worry, but right now I don't care much. I click my tongue at the horse and saunter toward it.

**

I'm going to fucking kill him. That's what I'll do when I get a hold of him, but for now, I worried to the point of distraction. Not to mention I meet with Papa Winchester in thirty minutes. _He just had to do this now._

I only think for a moment about texting Castiel, but reject the idea immediately. This will end with Dean in hot water with his father and much as he deserves it, I hate seeing Dean broken up about disappointing his father. My decision is not completely selfless. When Castiel hears that yet again, I could not handle Dean, he might really pull the plug on us this time. I'm just going to have to take the rap for this. I shouldn't have let him out of my sight, I wouldn't normally, but that damn conversation, okay fight, we had. And damn my _human_ emotions. But if he had just behaved himself, I could have explained to Papa Winchester that he was with Football head and… yeah, as I'm thinking it, I can hear how stupid it sounds. Even I know Papa Winchester wouldn't be wasting his time on me, if he was vying for Football head, whom I've noticed barely registers on his radar.

I've fucked up. Again.

"Any idea where he might have gone?" I ask said Football head. I _trusted him_ with Dean. He failed again. He's out.

The half-naked boy scratches his head. "None. We'll have to track him."

I scowl at him.

"Well, have you got any better ideas?"

I shake my head. Other than install a tracking device on his phone for next time, no. "All right Davey Crocket, let's go."

"Wait just a minute."

"Whatever you've got to say to me will have to wait, football head." I have a Dean to skin alive.

"I don't know what Dean sees in you."

"You're really beginning to annoy me." But he really is just a fly on my back, so I turn to keep walking, Dean far more important than whatever idiocy he's got planned, which is why I'm not paying attention to him, when he tries to tackle me. He doesn't expect to tackle a wall. Only, I'm not the wall I can be, since my mind is elsewhere (Dean) and my gait falters enough I trip and land in dirt. Lots of dirt, the hat Dallas forced me to wear ends up in the dirt too. And if my Nana Colt clothing wasn't soiled enough, the moron (thinking he's really got me) tries to pin me to the ground.

I can understand, my vessel is on the thinner side. It's muscular, but not like the bulky muscle he has. I'm sure he thought I would be easier to overtake (which is its own kind of asshole). I'm in a bit of a dilemma though, I cannot damage this human, much as I'd like to, since Dean cares for him, however small. Even if Dean hated this human, he wouldn't want him harmed like I would harm him, so I must be careful. Of course, if he ever did hurt Dean in any way, even Dean wouldn't be able to stop what I'd do to him.

As I think on what to do, he grabs my shirt, thinking to manhandle me, but all that ends up happening is him fucking ripping my shirt. I push him (perhaps more aggressively than intended) and knock him off me, while simultaneously rolling away (thus coating myself in more dirt) so I can jump to my feet, which I do, but he launches himself, fist first into my jaw. The steroids theory is confirmed, when the force of his punch knocks my face backward. Of course I feel the impact, my grace (the little I have) doesn't act like a force field and I know that's going to fucking bruise. _Fine, kid. That one's for free._ I don't let him get another hit in on me and instead grab his wrist when he attempts another punch, then pin his arm behind his back and my grip is immovable.

"I could crush you and if you don't stop, I will." I push him away from me and he trips falling on his face. Now Dean is further away. It's times like this I wish I could fly. I reach up, because something's dripping from my lip, blood. Brilliant. I observe that he has not come out unscathed either, sustaining his own line-up of bruises and cuts from our scuffle.

"I'm sorry, you just make me so mad."

"I believe the term you are looking for is jealous. Dean's mine and not yours. I allow you to borrow him and you know it." That's all he needs to know. Technically, I consider myself Dean's. Though lately, it's hard to tell the difference, since my own jealousy has been difficult to manage. "Lay off the steroids, Bradley." I brush myself off and retrieve my hat.

He pushes himself from the ground, frothing at me.

"I am going to find Dean. If you'd like your horse back, you may follow. Attempt to pounce on me again and I'll crush your bones to dust." I only half mean that, but he can be the judge on how serious I am, or not.

"Fine, I won't touch you, but another thing…"

Fuck. Is this what I have to listen to, all the way to wherever Dean has galloped off to? I'm adding this to his list of demeanors, unless I end up killing the kid, then I'll call us even.

**

I dust my hands off on Brad's fancy letter jacket and head inside the large barn. The house is a long ways off and there doesn't appear to be anyone around. It's a lot like Nan and Grandaddy's barn with lofts above and stalls below. I spy a ladder and head toward it with plans of climbing up to sit where the sun's shining and fall asleep. Turns out, Daddy's right (as usual) and I am still fatigued from my illness.

When I get to the top, I set about making myself comfortable in the hay. I figure I have about thirty minutes before Michael and Brad find me. Plus I left the horse outside, tethered. It won't be too hard if they just start walking in the distance I took off in. I mostly just wanted to make a statement anyway. _And what statement is that?_ I don't fucking know. Something.

Hoping Brad's jacket can be dry cleaned, I put Uncle Dal's special hat over my face, snuggle into the hay and close my eyes. Some time later, I'm woken from my shallow nap when I hear, "Hello?"

That fucking startles me. I sit up too quick and end up rolling over the side of the second story loft and into one of the stalls. Thank fuck my fall is broken by yet more hay, but my landing is not worth any tens and I roll onto someone.

"I think I broke something," I say. Not to mention, I hope I haven't ruined Uncle Dal's hat—both him and Uncle Chris will kill me.

"Fuck," someone answers back. "Really?"

I recognize that voice from somewhere. "Naw, just my pride." I get up and pick hay out of my hair. I take a look at my landing pad. "Fuck. What are you doing here, asshole?"

"What am I doing here? You're the one breaking into barns you don't belong in."

It's fucking Jake from the party. "What the fuck are you wearing, dude?"

I have to look down at myself. Oh yeah. "My boyfriend's," soon to be ex-boyfriend's, "letter jacket."

He looks me up and down a lot more appreciatively than he did at the party, but I can tell it's still no go for launch with him, it's more a mocking, appreciation than anything. "I was right, you _are_ young."

He's a douche. Like a really big douche, but I don't want him to kick me out of here. "Fine, so I'm young. You don't have to do me, just let me be here."

"Why would I do that?"

That's when I hear bickering outside. _Michael and Brad._ Arguing over me. Gives me an idea. I know how to get them both off my back. "'Cause I'll pay you a thousand dollars and if you pretend we're having sex, I'll pay you two thousand."

"Two thousand dollars? How do I know you're good for it?"

"Here." I pull out my wallet and shell out five hundred. "I'll have to get you the rest."

"What's a young thing like you doing with that much cash in your wallet?"

"The name's Winchester. Dean Winchester."

"So you got a bunch of Daddy's money, huh?"

"Yeah." I'm not ashamed of that. "You the kinda guy that can be bought?"

"For two grand? You bet, but there are rules."

"Whatever, just fucking start making out with me or something. Now."

As Michael and Brad come around the corner, Jake slams me against the wall and holy fuck, he's like a freight train. He kisses me, jamming his tongue into my mouth and even though I asked for it, I'm half trying to get away and half trying to get into it. If I don't get into it pretty soon, Michael will know and think I'm being attacked rather than kissed; he won't stand for that and Jake will be ashes. I relax, bracing my hands behind me against the wall and let him continue his assault. If this is how he kisses, he's lucky he's so hot.

Finally, he pulls away, but Michael and Brad are staring at us, mouths agape, probably wondering what they just saw. I adjust Brad's jacket, wipe the saliva and beer from gross, but hot Jake, off my lips and run a hand through my hair. "Howdy," I say to them both.

Brad, still half-naked, is fuming and what the fuck? He's all bruised, dirty and even bleeding. Michael's no better. His shirt is ripped to blazes and his lip is split. _Were they fighting? Like fist fighting?_ In that case, at least Brad is still standing. Michael's not sure what to make of the current situation. He keeps his cool, for now, but I can tell there's a fire crackling on low within him. Most of his anger is for me. "What the hell is going on, Dean?"

"Oh? This yers?" Jake says laying on some kinda accent real thick. I've never even heard Uncle Dal get that deep south and he can lay it on pretty think when he wants.

"Yeah, he is," Michael says.

Oh I am, am I?

"He's mine too. He's wearing my jacket."

For reasons I don't understand (probably because I'm paying him) I look to Jake for help. He shrugs. "He's got a point there."

I give him a look that says he's not getting the rest of his money if he doesn't start pretending he doesn't loathe me. "Much as I am enjoying this little scene, Dean, I have an appointment I'm late for, let's go," Michael says.

"Who's this one?" Jake asks.

"I'm Michael. The person who will disembowel you if you harm one hair on his idiot head."

"Is this guy fucking you too?" Jake asks.

"He's the only one in this room Dean better be fucking," Brad says and that just sounds freaking weird coming from him.

Jake starts slapping his leg and laughing his ass off. "This just gets better. "

"You laugh like a hyena. Dean. Home. Now."

"What is he, your keeper too?" That's Jake.

Of course my knee jerk reaction is to go with him. It's been that way for, forever. But going with the theme of the day, I just, well I want to see what it's like, _not_ to go. "No, he's not. I'm staying, I'm o-on a date." Yeah I managed to say it, but the look Michael's giving me makes it hard to keep talking. Okay, I hate this this.

Michael's gaze gets heavier. He's doing a pretty good Papa impression right now. His arms cross. "I am not in the mood for this, Dean. You're coming, one way or another."

Michael and I have an unspoken agreement. It's a lot like Papa and Daddy's agreement. With the exception of family (and angels), we're as subtle as we can be about the finer points of our relationship. But Michael's angel makes it hard and I know that, especially when I do something like take off on a horse. I pushed it and got what I knew would happen. I have no one to blame for his current actions, but myself. Barring some other kind of extenuating circumstances (like demons showing up, or angels for that matter) that's as far as he'll go. I _know_ that. I'm mad enough, I consider taking advantage of that. Tell him to fuck off; I do what I want; I don't have a keeper. Sure, I'll get spanked and punished (I still owe him lines I'm hoping he won't mention, I know, in what universe?) but maybe that's worth it.

I can't. I can't fucking do it. How would I feel if he really did enforce his "one way or another?" Though gotta say, it was pretty damn hot, I don't know that I wouldn't like to see what he'd do… throw me over his shoulder maybe? Okay, I'd like that and I kinda want to push him into doing it. But now's not a good time. Besides, how would I feel if I actually did that? Either way, it would break the pact between us at a time where even I can recognize it's not appropriate. He'd forgive me, yeah, he always does, but I'd still feel shitty.

Most important, I love what we have. If Jake wants to call him my keeper, then fine, he is. No matter how many assholes he wants to let suck his dick. Fuck, I'm so in love with him, I'll take him anyway I can have him. I mean, look what I'm doing. It's stupid. I just paid some douchey stranger two grand to give me a shitty kiss (which by the way, I hope to fuck neither of my parents find out about that. Because I don't spend the ridiculous amount of cash they give me, I've got a ton of spare hanging around. I have to ask to remove increments of a thousand or more from my account, but I've withdrawn enough over the years, I've got most of what I need to give Jake in my suitcase—the rest won't be a problem. I can take that out from the bank.)

So yeah. I've pushed him as far as I'm going to push him. Nothing to do with whatever trouble I'm in, which from those eyes is a given. I take off Brad's jacket. "You should put this on."

He takes it, he's not pleased with me either. "We're going to talk about this Dean."

"Take a number."

"Uh, Winchester, there's still a matter of…" Jake rubs his thumb and pointer finger together.

"You're lucky you got five hundred for that shitty-ass kiss. And you suck at subterfuge. It's over Jake."

He shrugs. "That mean y'all are gonna get out of my barn? I'd really appreciate it if y'all would leave."

We shuffle out of the barn and Jake knocks past us, heading up to the house. "Asshole!" I say. I hear him laughing as he continues on.

"We have to go Dean. I'm already going to be late," Michael says.

Yeah. That's my fault and Father's going to kill him. Fuck. And Grampa's going to be there too. "Any chance we could, uh, borrow the horse?" I ask Brad. "I know I'm an ass, a complete ass, I know you hate Michael, but, it would really help me too."

Brad gets a smug look on his face and crosses his thick arms over his chest, in a very top-like manner. "No, you don't deserve it after what you did, but I'll do it anyway."

"You will?" I get the distinct impression that's not all he's got to say.

"I will, only if I get to spank you for this. _This_ is not on."

Okay, now we're back into territory we all know: Everybody spanks Dean. There should be a book on that, or something. I look to Michael because he's in charge of all that.

"Normally, I'd say not even a chance, but we really must get back."

Huh. For Michael to even allow this, he must be worried about Papa and Grampa.

"You get one chance to spank his ass, Bradley. No implements."

That doesn't sound too bad.

"I want something left for me."

Rats.

"Take her then. Dean, I'll text you."

Once he's heading off, Michael wastes no time lifting me onto the horse. "Hey, I can mount her."

"I don't care, Dean." Ouch. He's mad. Like really fucking mad.

Michael climbs on in front of me. Unlike Brad, he knows I'm a good rider, but it's clear he's the one driving.


	31. Topversations (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of excitement about spankings... and poor you guys, no delivery this chapter. Someday, I'm going to become a more efficient writer. But for now, you'll have to deal with me as is! LOL 
> 
> The spankings are coming. I swear! But a lot of stuff is about to happen.
> 
> So, a few topversations happen over a couple chapters... and I have to say, a lot of planning went into this story, I'm not sure it always shows, but I'm glad to finally be getting to some of the stuff I'd been daydreaming about this story last summer. 
> 
> Chapter 32 is also finished. I'm going to go over it on more time and then post. Someone told me 3 chapter togetherish, work well. Ch 32 will make three for this story in just over a week, I think... 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

We're heading up the pathway to Nana and Grandaddy's house, when I realize, my stomach diving in a way I didn't know it could. "Fuck, Michael. Uncle Dal's hat."

Michael knows which hat I mean. His special Chesney hat. He stops the horse. "Fuck Dean. Just, fuck." We're both frozen, not knowing what to do.

"I can go back myself and get it," I say.

"Like Hell you are. You're not going anywhere for the foreseeable future." His eyes are like I've never seen them and he looks every bit the archangel he is, grace or next to no grace. The teasing expression I've used, 'your angel is showing' has new meaning; this is _not_ the Michael to fuck with. And no doubt he'll calm down and reassess that thing he just said and realize how unreasonable he's being (though fuck if I don't like, no love _this_ Michael).

"O-okay, Michael. Can you just, calm down? I'm not going anywhere."

"No Dean. I can't fucking calm down. As much as I may appear human, I'm not. _When are you going to fucking get that?_ "

I must look as terrified, as I feel because he finally does try, unsuccessfully, to calm down. At least he's trying. He urges the horse toward Grandaddy and Nana's stables and I don't say a word as he picks me up off the horse and sets me down. I wait for him to put the horse away, kinda dreading him coming back, but also bereft until he does. He does, still angry and anxious because he's missing a meeting that's happening now with my father and grandfather.

Michael grabs my hand and half drags me into the house, we're met in the entryway by a frantic Daddy. "Lordy Bee you two, did you both forget how to answer your phones? Cas is looking for you Michael—fudge, what the heck happened to you?"

Michael is white. He looks like Hell from his scuffle with Brad. Idiots.

I pat around for my phone, because why didn't I feel my phone? Shit. Shit. Fuck. I don't have my fucking phone. But I bet I know where it is. Michael checks for his and by the looks of it, he doesn't have his either. His fists clench and I think he's more mad at me if possible.

"Is there time for me to change, Sir?" Michael asks.

Daddy's on him. "Your lip is spilt Michael." He reaches for it inspecting it, while using his daddy peripheral vision to look me over.

"I'm fine, Daddy."

"Don't you I'm fine Daddy me, Dean Winchester. You've got hay in your hair. Something happened and you're both telling me what."

"My lip will heal Mr. Winchester."

He gives Michael a look and Michael holds still while Daddy looks it over. "If you were human, this would need stitches."

"It'll heal soon, but Mr. Winchester, it's imperative I attend that meeting."

"Meeting? There's no meeting. When you didn't come back, we assumed something was wrong. Everyone's out looking for you guys."

Fuck. I groan. "Who's everyone, Daddy?"

"Papa, Grampa Winchester, Uncle Dally, Uncle Chris, Grandaddy, even Nana and Aunty Clarabelle."

Double fuck. Just as I think that hopping back on that horse and heading for Mexico is sounding like a good idea, Papa charges through the door. "Sam?" But then Papa sets eyes on me and storms over to me, pulling me to him. "Oh God, Dean. You're okay."

"Yeah Papa, I'm—"

"Dean's here? Dean?" Grampa Winchester says, coming into the house.

Papa passes me off to him and takes in Michael's appearance. "Michael? What happened?"

Daddy interrupts any answer, Michael might have and I'm real curious how we're going to explain this one. One thing's for sure, this is probably my last day on Earth. "I have a feeling, Cassy that y'all can still have your meeting. Get that out of the way then we'll deal with these two. This has Dean Winchester brand mischief written all over it." Yeah, and that's Dean Winchester Brand Mischief "TM" in case anyone's wondering.

Daddy's got his phone out, texting Dal I assume. "Hey! How do you know we weren’t accosted by thieves?"

"Because I know you inside and out, Sur," Daddy says.

Fuck. I'm doing something with my face, aren't I? "I say Dean, why weren't you answerin' your phone?" Grampa asks. He's squeezing me as I look up at him.

Fuck (expect to hear that a lot this conversation). "I, I, it fell out of my pocket, sir."

I can see (in my periphery, since I'm pretty focused on Grampa) Papa's demeanor change from 'freaked about missing child' to 'freaked at child, trying not to murder him.' His arms cross; I hide into Grampa. He's my best bet right now, everyone else is going to form a spanking line. Especially when Uncle Dal gets here and him and Uncle Chris find out the Chesney hat is AWOL. _I_ feel fucking terrible about that. Everything feels awful right now.

It's not long before everyone's piling in the door. They take in the scene of me hugging, pretty much hiding into Grampa Winchester, Papa's crossed arms at me, Daddy with his stick-eye of disappointment, Michael who's…well he's something I don't know how to describe right now. Angry and defeated maybe?

"Half pint? Michael?"

Michael can't meet Uncle Dal's eyes. Embarrassed. Like it's his fault. It's my fault. I was the one being a fucking brat. I break away from Grampa, crying, and throw my arms around Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris at the same time. "I'm sorry, I lost the hat." Neither of them mean to, but they simultaneously tighten, for a second then relax. It's like a symbol of their relationship or something.

"It's okay, Dean, we're just glad you're all right," Uncle Dal says.

"Yeah, it's, it's just a hat," Uncle Chris says. I'm not fucking convinced. I feel like the world's worst person.

I turn to Papa who's seething, but trying to calm down. I have to put my brave face on, but I do. "Look, I know I've messed up here, seriously messed up, but _please_ Father, let me get Uncle Dal's hat back, while you have your meeting. I'll be back in plenty of time for y'all to kill me. I can do that much; I gotta at least right one wrong here." I feel despicable. Like, the worst I've ever felt and Papa must see that. He's considering it.

He still looks over at Daddy to see what he thinks, even though it's Papa's call. Papa even looks to Michael, which I don't expect and who I'm sure is still not over his _"Thou shalt not leave my sight"_ order. Whatever they've said, I don't know, but Papa looks resigned. "Okay Dean, but your daddy's going with you, then home and to your room 'till we talk. It's probably good we all get space from this."

"Yes, sir." _To my room_ doesn't sound fun, especially after being holed up for so many days sick, but I'm in no position to argue with anyone right now; I doubt Daddy will come to my rescue this time, once he's heard the story.

The car is intense. Daddy and I don't talk 'till we get out of the driveway. The look on Daddy's face is clearly, _I don't know what to do with you Dean Winchester._ When he's thinking that, it's usually in a fond way, but right now, he means it. Fuck. Now I remember; this is why I behave. "Daddy, I know sorry isn't enough, but I am. I hope everyone can forgive me."

"Oh Dean Bean. Sweetheart. Of course everyone's going to forgive you. We only worry about you because we love you so much. So where to?"

Daddy. Always making me feel better, even when I'm an asshole.

"It's a farm just South East at the end of Saul Street."

Daddy raises his eyebrows and laughs. "The old Hamilton farm?"

"Uh, I guess?" I don't know the places around here like they do.

He laughs again. "That place has been abandoned for years. The family won't let it go, but no one lives there."

My skin prickles; I don't know why it should. So Jake's a squatter and probably a vagabond; like that's a shocker. Though now I remember a distinct lack of animals in that barn and it makes sense. Daddy heaves a sigh. "Of course you were there. I hope you have a good reason."

More hopes I'll have to dash, but at least I can to do one thing, retrieve Uncle Dal's hat. We pull up to the barn. I take a closer look this time. The barn is in good condition, but yeah, it's old, including the hay I fell into and that's still in my hair. "Yuck!" I say picking it out. Daddy laughs at me and helps me take out the rest.

I look for the hat, where I saw it fall and my cellphone—neither of which I find. _Fucking Jake. He was here already, wasn't he? Fucker._ "Daddy," I say and sigh. "We have to go up to the house." I hope to Christ he's still fucking here.

The house is older looking up close, but it's not decrepit, just needs a lot of updating. I don't bother knocking, pushing the front door open (which isn't locked); Daddy and I enter. It feels familiar. I'm not sure it's an "I've been here familiar" so much as it is "the feeling of old creepy houses"—this is one of those times I'm sure it's Old Dean's feelings I'm feeling, which is an odd sensation. Like it's not really mine; like the coldness you feel when you get a blood transfusion. Whatever this house _is_ , I may not have been here before, but I've been somewhere like it, in another life.

"Jake! You better still be here, dillhole! I want my hat back."

" _Dean,_ " Daddy scolds.

"That's how we talk to each other."

Daddy's not impressed, but he lets it go.

We head around to the kitchen, where Jake is, thank fuck, leaning against the counter, wearing my, uh, I mean Uncle Dal's fucking hat. My cellphone is on the kitchen table.

"Howdy. I thought you might come back. Left the door open for ya and everythin'."

"Gimmie back my hat." Something about him makes me so mad. I'm still attracted to him in some way. I knew I was since the party; I mistook it for sexual attraction ('cause when don't I?) but that's not what it is, it's something else.

"Howdy," he says again, this time to Daddy.

"Hello, Jake is it?"

"Yep. Jake."

"That hat belongs to someone, not him. We'd really appreciate it, if you'd return it to us," Daddy says trying his hand at being friendly. Reasoning.

"Yeah, see, I'd like to, but there's a small matter of fifteen hundred dollars your son owes me. Once that's all squared away, hat's all yers." He smiles like he's being pleasant; he's not. Dick. I want to punch him for being a dick to Daddy.

"That kiss wasn't worth two grand. Was like kissing my brother. You're lucky you got anything."

Jake laughs; Daddy tenses. He's mad at me (more mad than he is already) since, he's determined, this is yet more Dean Winchester brand mischief, TM, which it is. But Daddy's no fool, he's not going to let this prick get away with that. "That's not his hat. That's just plain theft. So unless you want to spend your remaining years in prison, give the damn hat back." Whoa. A _damn_ from Daddy.

"It's not that many years for theft and theft at this level... is there anything more than a fine for that?"

"My guess is, with some research, I could find enough information on you, to lock you away for a long time; so go ahead, keep pissing me off." Daddy is fucking bad-ass.

"If you can find me."

"I don’t care who you think you are. We'll find you, Sur." That's all he says. Nothing particularity special, but the tone behind it is ridged like there's no other thing that could happen.

Jake's beautiful face looks scared. "Uh, yeah. Yes, sir. Here. Take it." Jake hands the hat to me. We should take that opportunity to leave Jake to his own stupid life, but Daddy sees something I don't and from his concerned demeanor, I know what he's thinking. He can't leave him without knowing. "Where are your parents young man? I know this ain't your place."

He knows Jake is squatting here. If the knowledge of this place being abandoned weren't enough, the sad bag of clothes on the floor in the living room is indicative. Daddy has to make sure he has a place to go. That's just what he's like. "I'm twenty-five. I don't need parents."

Twenty-five? He looks way older than that.

"Just because you're an adult, doesn't mean you don't need parents, or at least someone parent-like and you look to me like you could definitely use some parents."

"My parents are dead."

Does the think that will deter Daddy? Right. He doesn't know him like the rest of us do. "Then you're coming with us, Sur."

"What is that? Some kinda fucked up way of saying, sir?" He's panicked. Big bad Jake is panicked. This is fucking awesome to watch. Daddy frowns at his curse word. "You can't take me with you."

"Yeah, Daddy. You can't," I agree. Fun as it is to watch the guy squirm, I don't want this douche nozzle staying with us.

"Try me." Daddy's bigger than Papa, both taller and more muscular, but it doesn't always seem it. Right now, Daddy looks fierce and every bit the size he is.

"Okay, okay. I lied. I do have a dad, but I'm staying here 'till he gets back."

Daddy's got his arms crossed, doing a good impression of Papa right now; he's not budging an inch. Jake looks like he's trying hard not to cow under Daddy's powerful gaze. Jake's doing a decent job of pretending like it's not affecting him, but it is. Daddy can affect anyone. Uncle Jared and Jensen are hunters a long time now and still afraid of big brother Sammy.

Jake scratches the back of his neck and runs a hand through his dark hair. "Look, uh, I'll be fine. My dad'll be back. Thing is, Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days."

**

Is he really that stupid? No he gets straight A's, his parents make sure. Maybe it's fucking denial? I don't know. I might never know why Dean can't just get how I feel about him. Do I have to save his life? Done that. Spend every waking moment with him that I possibly can? Do that. Protect him. Spank him. Check and check. Speaking of which, Michael fun spankings might have to be on hold yet again. There are too many real ones to give and you know? I might enjoy them equally as much. In a different way, but enjoying is enjoying.

Currently, I have been banished to the corner. Okay, okay, it's not quite how that sounds. I haven't been _sent_ to the corner, as in one of Daddy Winchester's childish punishments, but I've been told to sit in this chair and listen to the grown-ups speak. I feel like a fool in my ripped shirt (only the jeans are meant to be ripped and I really would have liked to have put on nice ones for Grampa Winchester) and covered in dirt, gripping the hat I was given by Dallas to wear, like it's some form of protection against the room. I look like Pig-Pen. I'm going to need to do some serious cleaning after this whole ordeal. I wonder if I can get Tom to bring me Pine-Sol?

Christian was not invited in. This is some kind of Winchester Top Convention, with Dallas, Grampa Winchester, Castiel and even Clarabelle. It's a big fucking deal that I was invited in. I'm glad to be in the corner and out of sight, but I do my best to show up as stoic in the eyes of Papa Winchester, which do (very) occasionally, look over to me.

"Thank you for putting this meeting off Father. I know you wanted to do this soon as possible."

"Nonsense. With Dean's illness, you had to take care of him. Dallas, welcome. You're our first Head of House, entering the family in awhile. I'm excited and proud to have you. You're going to be a good husband for my boy—now that y'all have your heads on straight."

He's embarrassed by the comment. I've come to know the human well; it's easy to see. "Thank you, sir," he says.

"I know that Castiel has provided you with council over the years and has done a good job. I hope you will consider myself and Clarabelle other viable options."

It's clear this is formality. As if Clyde Winchester, the family Patriarch has not given his advice to Dallas over the years. I know there was drama between Chris and Dallas (and they get after me and Dean) but that wouldn't stop Clyde getting his two cents worth. And Clarabelle. I know she and Dallas have talked over the years too. She's got her own take on things. Not that she's unlike Clyde in her ways, but she's got a particular elegance. I've seen her with her family when they've visited. She's said a thing or five to me over the years I've appreciated.

"Always have, sir," Dallas says.

"And Michael, I hear you're attending Sunday dinners," Grampa Winchester says and I almost choke on the air in my vessel's throat.

"Um, yes, sir." Fuck. Stupid.

"You're aware any weddings will have to wait until Dean is twenty-one?"

Papa Winchester and I both have attacks of some kind hearing him say that. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves Father. The Sunday dinners ritual is a trial period and a training period. He still has to ask me and convince me he's worthy of _my_ son."

 _He might as well have said "my special boy"._ And I know I'm on his list in a big way. I only just received a spanking, but have definitely earned another one, if that look is anything to go by. If not for being in this meeting, I'd be freaking out that I'm kicked out of the family—I did on the way back… and before that; it's a constant worry of mine. I've reasoned that I'm not being sent straight home if I'm here. Castiel wouldn't bother with me. I'd be in the living room with Nana, Granddaddy Colt and Christian.

Papa Winchester doesn't see it (since he's currently lasering me with his ice-blues), but Grampa Winchester smiles at him fondly, then frowns by the time Papa Winchester's looking back at him. "But he does plan to ask, don't you Michael?"

Fuck. What do I say to that? I may have plans in the works, but nothing guaranteed. It's not like I've never lied and mislead before, but I freeze up thinking of doing that with Grampa Winchester. For some strange reason, he likes me and I want to keep it that way. I look to Castiel. "We have an arrangement worked out, Father. Dean and Michael have—"

He spins to face Papa Winchester. "There are no _arrangements,_ Castiel." He turns back to me. "I'm sorry Michael. I like you, but I can't approve if you can't promise a wedding, for my favorite grandson."

"Daddy," Clarabelle scolds. She's always taken that well.

"Hush, you know Clarence is a close second, I'm not gonna deny the truth on account of hurt feelings."

"I assure you Father, the circumstances are delicate; I wanted to talk with you about them in person and when there was more time. I told you there were details to discuss," Castiel says.

"Circumstances, or not, there is no bending the rules for this. It must follow protocol, or what's the point in having protocol?"

"They are under my jurisdiction. I approved it."

"You have no authority to change Winchester Way Castiel. Not even I have the authority to do that. I'm disappointed."

Papa Winchester has to work hard at austere, but I can tell his father's words affect him.

"You and I will be having a word about this later. You can sit down Castiel." In other words, he'll run this meeting himself now.

"Yes, sir."

"Shall I leave, sir?" I ask. I think I just got kicked out of Top school.

"Did I say to leave? I believe I said I do not approve, but apparently someone else did." He gives Papa Winchester a look I never want to get. "Whether I like it or not, you're responsible for Dean. I say, I say, I just said he's my favorite, or weren't you listening?"

"No sir, I mean, yes, sir. I was listening, sir." Perhaps my plans to evict my father should include this man. He's intimidating and I think could have the powers needed to give Father a run for his money.

Clarabelle rolls her eyes at her father, but she's smiling.

"Clearly I cannot trust my son alone, I'm afraid I must insist upon my tutelage as well as his, Michael."

I swallow. "Of course, sir. I'll do whatever you say, sir."

"Good, I'm going to hold you to that. Dallas, you have accepted my son's proposal, you understand what that means?"

"I do sir. I've lived with the Winchesters a long time now, I know we're a domestic discipline family and what that means. I accept your authority and anyone above me."

"I know you have and you've done me proud boy. Normally I'd read the riot act, but you know us well. Since Christian is the youngest, you're the lowest on the chain of command I'm afraid, but this doesn't make your opinion matter less. It's just in terms of authority. We always want to hear your opinion."

He doesn't have to tell me where I stand. I get it. I'm a "Top in training" or a "Junior Top." I'm here to learn; I don't get a seat at the table yet, so to speak.

"I'm also putting you in charge of Michael, here."

What?

"Of course Castiel's got final say," he says, with some disdain. "But think of him as your… little buddy."

Dallas can barely contain his laughter. "I will, sir." He's also biting his lip. He knows what I'm going to have to say about that.

"Michael, I want you to set up meetings with Dallas. Talk about your relationship with Dean."

I know a human who's up to something. I don't know what, but it's something. "Yes, sir. How often, sir?" I ask.

"Minimum of once a week, but as many as you like. Do you understand why we have this system?"

"Relationships are hard, complicated, sir," I tell him.

"Exactly, if more families had such a brilliant system, there wouldn't be a breakdown in the societal structure. That's why we have protocol," he says to Castiel.

I agree with him, but I don't say so. I like order and control; it makes me feel calm. Makes life simpler. When things are out of my control, I go insane and want to tighten metaphorical bolts.

"Now then, I don't have anything else that I need to address at this time. I do want to speak with Castiel, if y'all will excuse us."

That's all? That was a short meeting, but the man is official to a fault. Statuses of two of his boys changed and he needed to let Dallas and I know we're on his radar in a new way.

"And Michael, I want to speak with you," Castiel says. "Don't go too far."

**

"Oh no you don't, come with me, Sur," Dallas says when we exit the room, leaving Castiel with his father and Clarabelle to go her own way.

"Must we do this now? I'll have my assistant call yours, we can Skype."

"You know Michael, I may be marrying into a family of Winchesters, but I was a Colt first. We don't have _spanking protocol,_ we just spank when and where we see fit, especially when it's a stubborn, younger family member."

My whole face flushes, especially since I'm technically not younger. I feel younger right now. "Fine. But for the record, this is stupid."

Dallas laughs. "Noted, Sur. You're sounding a lot like Dean these days, Michael."

I'm frog marched to porch, where I sit on the porch swing and he makes himself comfortable on the thick porch ledge and leans against the square pillar. He looks funny without his hat, so I hand the black one I'm holding to him. "Sorry about your Chesney hat," I say. I know how much meaning it has between him and Chris. I know how I'd feel if I lost any one of the trinkets I've collected of Dean's.

"They'll get it back," he says with enough assurance, I believe him. "That's a good Segway though, Michael. I want to know what happened."

He's like a dog on a scent. I give him the quick run down. "Dean took off on a fucking horse, going who knows where."

"There's another way to do this Michael. Mind your tone and your words, please, or we will."

I know what he means; we all know this family's proclivity for over the knee discussions. "Sorry. I… It started a couple of days ago when he was sick. We got into a jealousy war, both our _feelings_ were tarnished, he took off on Bradley and I to get back at me. I mean, likely Bradley said something asinine, the straw that broke the camel's back, if you will, but he was riled because of our fight… fighting. There was more than one."

Dallas is not impressed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this happens all too often."

"You're not wrong."

"I've been you, Michael, learning the ropes, making mistakes and I've been watching you both a long time now. You feel guilty for what you can't give him, so you're a kind of halfway top, always giving him leeway, so he thinks he can really push you. Dean needs immovable structure, like what Cas gives him. Without that, he'll walk all over you, not to mention it's not good for him. He craves rigidity and thrives with it, no matter how much he whines and complains about it. You need to step up, or step out."

My eyes bulge.

"You know I've been team Michael and Dean the whole way, I still am, but I want what's best for you both; this ain't working for either of you, no matter how much y'all pretend otherwise. Y'all just bury things, 'till they finally explode; y'all do stupid things."

"Say it like it is why don't you? I thought therapists were supposed to ask questions; lead me to self-search for the answer?"

"Yeah, but I ain't your therapist, not really a therapist at all anymore. I'm family and sometimes, you just need to kick another family member's behind."

"Well I'm fresh out of ideas. What would you have me do? I can't tell Dean what my father's said. That's the root of it. If I could just give Dean what he wants, he wouldn't feel…" broken, "…sad."

This time he stares and does wait for me to get it myself. "You think I should tell Dean? No. No way. Even Daddy Winchester thinks it's a bad idea."

"Sam is well intended too, but he's Dean's Daddy and bound to be ridiculously over protective. Sammy would put him in a bubble if he could."

"I do not appreciate being compared to a helicopter parent."

"Then don't act like one. Michael, do you really expect this to work long term if you never trust him?"

"I trust Dean." Again, Dallas with the fucking staring. "Okay, I don't trust Dean. I think he'll try to make a plan to kill my father. I'm protecting him."

"I get that Michael. It's well intended; I trust your intentions, but don't you think Dean should have say in this?"

"If I did, I would have done it by now."

"Okay, if that's how you feel, try this one on; are you okay with him being in misery?"

"To protect his life? Yes. What's a little misery?"

I have to admire how Dallas remains calm. I would be frustrated with this conversation and just want to mallet the person on the head; I can see he's really trying to find the right angle, so I'll get what he's saying. "The idea that Dean will form an attack against your father is only speculation, his misery is real and wearing on him. He loves you, so he continues to convince himself he's fine with how things are, I think he even believes himself most of the time, but he's not fine, Michael. You know him. You know that."

His quiet tone stirs something in me. "Maybe you're right, maybe telling him that my father refuses to approve of me being with a human, he might be able to handle."

"I think you and Sammy need to give him more credit. I might have agreed with you both once upon a time, but I don't now; not after this happening time and time again."

"But what about the other stuff; about what my father does to me? You're not suggesting I tell him absolutely everything, are you?"

"I'll leave that up to you Michael. Start with the needs to know. Trust him with one thing at a time, 'till you feel you can trust him with the other stuff."

"I don't like talking about that stuff. I wish no one knew."

"I know cornbread. Like I said, that part, doesn't directly affect Dean. Of course it's something that would upset him, but it's not currently the thing breaking him apart."

"Not to sound arrogant, but I think it would break Dean apart if he knew. There's simply no point."

"If that's how you feel, that's how you feel, but there's something in… suffering together that, well it makes you stronger as a couple Michael and it makes the things that seemed really big, not so big anymore. You should try it sometime."

All I can do is twist my lips at that.

"Aren't y'all a team?"

The infuriating human is right. Damn him. "See? I was right. Asking questions to try to lead me to a particular conclusion."

He laughs. "I'm honestly not trying to lead you to any conclusion. If you still think you're right and I'm wrong, do what you've been doing. I simply don't agree that you two are working and I want you two to succeed. I want a Team Michael and Dean t-shirt."

"There will be no t-shirts made," I say with a sigh. "But I will trust him more. I can't tell him all of it, but I will tell him the first thing."

"There. Was that so hard? I'd say our first meetin' went pretty well. Don't you?"

Ugh. This is only the first. I should ask Grampa Winchester how long I'll have to endure this torture. "May I be excused now?"

"Ya-huh, only one thing to do. C'mere, Sugar."

"Oh no you don't. We are not hugging after every meeting."

"Well not the Skype calls, but the in person ones, it's vital. We need some kind of physical stimuli to seal the emotional memory of this discussion."

"I don't believe in all that nonsense."

"Well I'm in charge and I do. Get your butt over here."

"No."

"It's either this or a spanking, both can work the same way."

"That's… not fair!" I say, but I do head over for the _hug._

He hops down and wraps me in his meaty, cowboy arms, laughing. "It's the good kind of not fair, cornbread."

"Can I request termination of that nickname?"

"Yep, aaaannd termination denied," he smirks.

This is unbelievable. The things I do for Dean.

"Next is Cas. You might as well go wait in the living room, 'till he comes to get you."

"Yes, sir."


	32. Topversations (2) or End of Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And two! For some reason the other chapter's not showing up as having updated (least not on my account). So, jsyk, there is a new chapter before this one ;)
> 
> P.S. Just posted a new story, "Make Me Yours" if you're down for some kinky times. XD

The phrase is like a key unlocking a door in my mind that was long since closed. No memories come flooding back, just feelings and things my body knew once upon a time. If recent science has anything to say about it, they'd say each cell holds a memory, so maybe the feeling is better described as multiple doors unlocking, the feelings settling into my body, checking things out; wondering if they really need to be out, or if they can hide away again.

While they make their decision, I see everything differently. Everything in the room is amplified, like it's more defined. Nothing seems innocent. Suddenly, the cool, bad-ass Jake is much more than that, he's dangerous; a wolf in sheep's clothing, a really asshole, dick-sheep's clothing.

I look for a weapon. It's not hard, everything's a weapon.

And though I don't have memories, pieces of information come to me that I just _know._ Like how to use a firearm. Sure, many people in this life taught me how to use a firearm; Daddy, Papa, Grampa Winchester, Uncle Jensen, Uncle Jared, Uncle Chris and Uncle Dal, just to name a few, but only one person taught me and gave me practical experience.

Daddy knows something's up. "Dean. _Dean?_ "

I hear him, like from far away. I have to shake my head to see him. Jake knows something's up too and like the hunter he is, does first, thinks later, and he lunges for his bag. But I'm closer and faster. I reach in and pull out a demon knife. Seeing he's too late, he reaches behind him, I'm still faster, as he pulls the gun out of his pants, I'm there and have his arm locked behind his back, pressing into this fingers just right to disarm him and kick the gun toward Daddy. I have the knife at his throat.

"You're a god damn Hunter," I say.

"H-how did you know that?"

"Takes one to know one."

He laughs. "You, a hunter? Please. The only thing you've ever hunted is a—"

I cut him off and list several hunts (how am I remembering this crap?), while tightening my grip, as Daddy stands terrified (of me) knowing to just let me deal with him under whatever spell I'm under.

"Okay, okay. So in the least, you know about hunting things and not too many—" I tighten again. "Okay, no one could have done what you just did, except for one guy. He's a legend. Doesn't even exist anymore, no one knows what happened to him."

Satisfied, I release him. He grabs at his neck, breathing again. I give him a goofy, cocky grin. "What you're not? No. You can't be _the_ Dean. Hunter Dean?"

I don't get to answer that. Soon as Daddy sees danger is over, he steps in. He's kinda irritated looking. "I'll take that, Sur," he says, divesting me of the demon knife.

"Hey, we might need that."

" _You_ don't need anything, except for a good spanking, Dean Winchester."

"Jeez Daddy," I say embarrassed. Whatever gripped me is, not gone, but settled. It's not on the front lines anymore, but it's lurking, the Hunter, not trusting the new Hunter. I don't get it. Why now? I mean, you think this would be brought out by angels and demons at that party, not gym bros and strange hunters. I can only hope that like in the situation before, where buddy was harmless, so is this guy.

Who's suddenly turned into a groupie. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were _the_ Dean. You were like a legend!"

Isn't he supposed to be making fun of me for getting a spanking threat? "Uh, yeah, you said that already." This is getting a bit awkward.

"You gotta sign something of mine. Is it true you wiped out a whole nest of vampires with nothing but a butter knife?"

That sounds like a complete myth, but I can't remember and it's not like he can prove me wrong. "That's what the legend says, don't it?"

"Wow."

"Okay, enough Dean. Jake, is your father really coming back?"

"He is," he says still looking at me starry eyed. It's kinda freaking me out.

"Hunter or not, I still don't like leaving you by yourself."

I don't get that either. I'm not even sure if Daddy knows why he's so keen on bringing him back with us.

"Look, the gig is up. You know I'm a hunter now. My life ain't gonna be safer staying with y'all for a few days."

"True," Daddy says, out of arguments. "Look, take my number. Call us, if you need food or something. Okay?"

"Sure, bub."

We make it back to the car, Uncle Dal's Kenny Chesney hat safely recovered. Daddy drives for a bit, but pulls over well before the house. "Dean, what happened back there?"

"I, fudge, I don't really know, Daddy."

"Was it… Dean?"

Daddy looks terrified now, it's not a look I like seeing on him. Instinctively, I want to make him feel better, but lying's not an option right now. "I think so. It was like he took over for a moment. Like what happened with that guy at school. It was weird and I, I think he's here, with me. "

"Hasn't he always been, baby?"

I don't know how to answer that either. "I guess in some ways. But mostly just the…" I don't want to say it, I know how much Daddy and Papa hate when I talk about hunting.

Daddy runs a hand through my hair, fixing it. "I'm sorry Dean Bean. Your father and I haven't been supportive of hunting. It's hard for us to be. Can you understand that?"

I nod. "I can and, I'm… Daddy? I don't know how to explain it. I've felt a drive to hunt even in this life. The pull is strong enough, I get curious sometimes, which is why I tried going on that hunt a while back with Uncle Jensen and Uncle Jared. But I think—and I'm not just saying this because it's what you want to hear—I think I'm beginning to distinguish that those aren't my feelings. Daddy I felt him. I mean, the bad-ass parts were cool, but Dean was, he was lonely, wasn't he?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. I know he had a hard life, it's hard to know exactly what he felt about it."

Something about this whole thing is unsettling to me. I'm not… turning back into him am I? Fuck. I hope not. He sound badass, real badass. Sometimes I did want to be old Dean growing up, but I like being this Dean, ya know? Hunting or no hunting, I want to make that decision as this me.

_That's a good thing, kiddo._

Seriously what the fuck?

"Dean?"

"Sorry, I don't, I don't feel good." He knows I don't mean I'm getting my flu back.

_Wind's in the West, bud._

"Can we go home, Daddy?" Fuck I'm crying now. No idea why. Things feel really fucked up.

"Of course sweetheart."

**

I think I'm going inside to wait in the living room for Papa Winchester, but I’m stopped by Nana Colt in the kitchen. I'm not sure I've ever seen such a serious look in her face. "Michael, someone's in the living room for you." She doesn't mean Papa Winchester. My gut takes a serious plunge at who it could possibly be. "I believe he said he was your uncle?"

I curse privately to myself for the way I'm dressed and how beat up I look and enter the living room. Sitting there, in a gold jacket and black slacks is Gabriel. His quaff is stands up and powerfully swoops down toward his forehead, his blue eyes looking a bit pale. His demeanor is more serious than it should be, or I guess, more serious that he usually is these days… years; I'm more worried. Gabriel isn't the free-spirited, trickster angel he used to be. Having to serve Father has tarnished him. At least he gets to call Father Lucifer, but apparently, that's because he doesn't hold the favor with Father that I do; it's rumored amongst the angels that I'm the favorite one, some even call me spoiled behind my back, or at least, when they think I can't hear them.

I guess from where they sit, I am. They don't get to live in condos outside Godfrey Manor and keep human pets (Father sometimes considers Dean the puppy he got me). Sure. But I still say it's all relative. But I'd still rather be them any day. They can have the attention I get from Father, that they seem to crave.

"Uncle Gabriel?" Gabriel was once my brother, not my uncle, but according to Father, he has said it is so, and so it is. Father pointed out that Gabriel can't possibly be my brother and his brother. It doesn't matter, really. Gabriel is older than me. He outranks me. Period. I can feel it now in his cool gaze.

He holds up my phone. "When I couldn't get a hold of you, I flew to this. Were you attacked?"

I want to say yes, because I was and it looks like it, but he would never accept me being tackled by Brad, a human, split lip or no. He means demon. "No, sir."

"What happened to your lip?"

"This? This is nothing."

"Come here."

I obey him and he looks it over in a manner that's fussy like Daddy Winchester, but with less tenderness. I don't think anyone can out-tender Sam. "How did this happen?"

I'm embarrassed when I say, "a human with good luck and ergogenic aids."

"Shouldn't take long to heal. It will serve as a good reminder for you. Sit."

I'm glad he's not healing this one. Sometimes I wish he would heal things and he does when he can get away with it, but this one, so small and from a human? It would be more embarrassing to have it healed. Angels don't think like humans that way, we're proud of battle wounds. _Though battle wounds are different than other kinds of wounds._ I sit. He talks. "I have gone through a lot of trouble, which includes almost getting myself killed, to keep your secrets and help you. I've risked my existence to help you recruit other angels to your side. I was not pleased when I couldn't get in touch with you. I expect to be able to get a hold of you, when your father needs me to. Hell, even when I just need to. If you can't accomplish that, I'm bringing you home."

Gabriel might be helping me, but he's not my bitch, if anything, I'm his. We have a common desire; he wants out, I want out. We're working together; he makes it clear he outranks me even though this whole thing was my idea. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"It won't. Take this and fucking glue it to you."

I lean forward enough to take my phone. "Did Father need me?"

"No. You're lucky he didn't. I called to check up on you, Kiddo."

I bristle at the nickname. I've already been over with him how much I despise it, but like with everyone else, no one listens to me. "I'm dandy."

His eyes form concern. He's all serious now. I used to hate when he was a goof-ball, but sometimes I miss that version of him. Ever since he read up on how physical abuse can fuck children up, combined with his theory that I'm more human than angel now in some ways. I still don't agree. I don't feel I've exchanged angel for human, just added some human to the angel. "It's just as well I'm here. Your father has added an angel to your detail. His own secret angel, who's not so secret, because I caught him."

I didn't know I could feel so cold. The things I've been doing with Dean…

"He doesn’t know I caught him though," Gabriel smiles.

"Did he get anything to Father that might, implicate me?"

My whole vessel relaxes when he shakes his head. "No. Lucky for you, he chose Jerahmeel. He's not as up on the more subtleties of human relationships. I know what you've been doing though. Michael, are you sure you want this human?"

"We've been over this, sir."

"From what I've heard in the reports, it doesn't sound like he can handle having an angel for a mate."

Great. This is all I need. Gabriel's disapproval. "He can sir, he's just young. He's learning, I want to be able to show him more about me." He catches my drift. Once Father is gone I can show Dean what I'm like without Father's limitations.

Gabriel accepts what I've said. For now at least. He winks, a bit like the old Gabriel. "FYI, Jarahmeel is otherwise engaged for the next week. Be careful, but you're okay for now." Some of the tension in his body seems to ease in telling me that; I get it. He's happy he could buy me a little freedom.

"Thank you, Uncle Gabriel." I know he likes that. It must be a weird thought to humans, that someone who was once my brother could even be referred to as Uncle, but through millennia and several events (namely repeated doses of Modlenol) he has been shaped that way for me, even though he came to us later, well after it was just Father and I. Me referring to him as such when no one is around to tell on me for not, is meaningful to him.

"Is this where humans would hug it out?"

"I've just had to endure one hug thank you. I'm all hugged out."

"You seem to like hugging Dean," he teases, showing a little more of the old Gabriel I remember.

"Dean is, Dean."

"Right," he says then smirks and adjusts his jacket.

As the front door closes behind him and I hear the flap of wings, Nana Colt comes through with some refreshments. "Oh dear, I'm late. Did your uncle have to leave so soon?"

"Yes, ma'am. He was just stopping through."

"Oh." Her face falls.

"Um, I would very much like to have refreshments for you, while I wait for Castiel. If you have time."

She lights up again. "'Course I have time for you, sugar, corn muffin, apple pie."

Judging by the number of nicknames, I think I just made Nana Colt's day.

**

I'm in position over the desk in the Colt office, slash library, slash playroom for the kids, proving the idiom, _no one is too old to get a spanking._ I know what I did and I knew there would be consequences for my actions. But, well, I spoil Dean, that's no secret. Aside from that, I have some feelings on Winchester protocol with regard to what constitutes as "together." I might have agreed with Father at one point, in fact I did, but as Sam and I met friends who lived different lifestyles, my opinion shifted. As long as the pair, or trio, or however many, are happy together, then I think that should fit into Winchester protocol. Marriage or no.

And strangely, I have my own protocols I feel prudent to add to Winchester protocol and romantic relationships and _weddings_ (which for now must simply remain rules I'll set for Dean). Weddings. I don't want to think about Dean marrying.

The sting to my backside, from Father's belt, is building and even after all the spankings I've had with straps, there are still tears, because it fucking hurts. He is one strong fucker for his age and he doesn't spare the rod, or I guess the strap as the case may be. "All right. That should be enough. Up."

He's still eyeing me as I'm pulling up my pants. He crosses his arms (I learned that from him) and pins me with his Winchester blue eyes. "I'm guilty of having spoiled Dean myself a time or two," he says. I have to hold back laughter. _A time or two?_ "But this is too important. We have the Winchester Way for important reasons. It has existed in our family for centuries. We even had the foresight, not to include sexism into our way," he says proudly.

I've heard this enough times to know that, but he loves hearing it and now, he's the only one around to say it, so he can hear it out loud, though Mother indulges him from time to time. "It's practically perfect in every way." He's kind of a Marry Poppins fan. "I won't have you changing it."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not calling them off. I made a promise." Despite the drama today, no, I'm still not calling it off—I will deal with them both, but that's it. Dean's lucky Sam and I went through so much Hell to be together. "So what would you have me do?"

"For now it isn't a problem. Dean's not old enough to get married anyway. He must be twenty-one."

"Father, if you'll let me explain why they can't—"

"I don't want to hear it Castiel. They will marry. We will figure something out. Am I understood?"

My father's eyes are firm, but they're not menacing like they usually are when he says things like, _am I understood?_ It's a plea. For Dean. "Yes, sir. We'll figure something out." I hope that's true.

**

Papa Winchester's hair is uncharacteristically out of place. He looks at his wit's end. He's moving stiffly. I assume Grampa Winchester punished him for his own disobedience. He's scary looking right now. Childishly, I wish Daddy Winchester was here to protect me, or at least buffer his displeasure in some way. How long does it take to get a fucking hat back?

Castiel slams his hand down on the desk, furious. I jump. "I don't know what happened, I know Dean was being a brat this morning, but you were supposed to handle him Michael. Instead, we were looking all over the County for you two."

"I know, sir. Dallas gave me some guidance. I think it will help." I fill Papa Winchester in. He moves to the window, staring out and breathing the fresh air for awhile. Processing.

"Dallas is right," he says finally. "Sam won't like it, but you two can't function this way. I have to say, I don't know if Dean is ready for the responsibility of knowing that information, but yes, it's time for you to trust him with it. We all want to shelter Dean to a fault, me included. And what have you planned as punishment for his bratty behavior?"

The mood in the room changes quickly. I've gone from being the mouse in the Lion's mouth, to the younger lion who's being taught by the elder Lion. I tell him my plan, he makes a few suggestions for me. When he's finished, he stares at me a long time, or at least, what feels like a long time. Maybe I've been sitting here for all my millennia.

"I can be, irrational, when it comes to Dean."

No fucking shit. Of course I don't say that. I haven't worked this hard for years and fucking years to garner some scrap of approval from this man, only to have it completely washed away.

"I am glad my father asked for Dallas's assistance, now that he's going to be an official Winchester."

Yeah, I'm sure he'd like to wash his hands of me. I try to keep my trembling lip from trembling, but it's not working very well.

"Not because of whatever you're thinking, Michael. Dallas has more objectivity than I do. Not that we don't all fall victim to Dean's charm now and again, but like with what you and Dallas talked about; Sam and I would rather shield Dean from all things bad. We try to give him more responsibility, but it's hard, especially when he feels so young."

Now I feel stupid. Why am I such a suck with this man?

"I'm can't be any easier on you, I'm afraid, which is why this thing with Dallas will be good. I'll still be meeting with you as well."

I never doubted that. By the time I'm done "Top School", maybe _I'll_ be fit to run the family.

"Originally, I intended on reaming you out, Michael, but I've changed my mind. You and Dean misbehaved together, you can be in trouble together."

"Taking a page from Daddy Winchester's book, sir?"

Speaking of. There's a knock at the door. When Cas says to enter, Daddy Winchester is there. He doesn't look good, I'm immediately suspicious. "Dean's in his room. He needs Michael, Cas."

**

When we got back, I was still a fucking mess (I felt weird and unsettled), but I had to give Uncle Dal his hat.

"Here you go Uncle Dal, not a scratch. I even sprayed the inside with some of Daddy's Tea Tree for you," I told him. I had to kill anything on there Jake may have left behind.

Uncle Dal popped it straight back onto Chris's head and they shared a secret smile. "I knew you'd get it back, Dean. No harm done, but I am disappointed in how you behaved today."

That killed me. I gave him puppy eyes. "Yeah. You're forgiven though, c'mere." I got a hug from both him and Uncle Chris.

Daddy walked me up to my room at Nan's. "Everything will be okay, Dean Bean," he said, as I laid on my bed and clutched a pillow to me. Daddy watched me, unsure if he should comfort or just leave me be. "You want me to sit with you awhile, Dean?"

"C-can you ask Papa if I can have Michael?" That's a weird way to ask, but it's not just a want, I _need_ him. It felt like my body was physically craving him. More than that, I needed to make things right between us and selfishly, I needed him to give me whatever it is he does; the thing I'm seeing more and more of, so I could feel stable again.

Daddy looked at me funny. "Michael?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?" Because Daddy's, Daddy, I knew he'd know what I meant. I usually look for grounding from Papa; this doesn't mean I never will again, but this time, I needed it to be Michael.

"Oh baby boy, of course it's okay. I understand completely and Papa will too."

 _Yeah right,_ I was thinking, he might understand, but he'll still feel replaced, which will make him hate Michael more, or again, or whatever it is now.

"Just relax. I don't want you getting sick again. Everything will get sorted." He kissed my forehead and left.

Now, it's some time after that (I'm no longer crying, but my eyes are wet and my nose is plugged, my face feels like it's expanded two sizes) I've got my face buried in the pillow and I hear someone come in the room, I can't see them. "Dean?" Papa says.

I don’t mean to feel disappointed, Papa will do a good job giving me what I need, he always has, but I am. I'm disappointed. "Yeah Papa?" I remain tight in my Dean-ball, squeezing the pillow, not wanting to open my eyes.

"I brought you something."

I feel him take my hand and put a hand I know as well as my own into it. I peek out. "Michael?"

"I'll leave you two," Papa says, quietly. He looks, I don't know… All I can see is Michael right now.

His hair is a freaking mess; sticking up high, displaying just how much hair he really has (I'm surprised Papa hasn't told him to cut it). His shirt is ripped at the collar, I can see one of his pecs under the black t-shirt he's wearing, but his lip looks to be healing already. "Michael I'm—"

Harnessing some of his angel, he swoops under me, arranging me so I'm laying on top of him, in a Superman cuddle, my head on his chest instead of the pillow. He holds me in the exact way I like to be held, with his hand wrapped around my wrist in the "right" way too. We breathe together. "You make me want to strangle you," he says.

He also knows what to say to make me laugh. "Are you in a lot of trouble with Papa?"

"A lot. I'll live though. You okay?"

That sets me off again. "Nooo," sniffle, "no I'm not."

I cry awhile, he doesn't do anything to stop me, but eventually, he takes my hand and kisses each one of the knuckles and I realize, he's crying too. "Dean, I love you." His voice is all crackly and broken and watery. "I lo-ove you, Dean…"

I've never heard Michael like this, I mean there have been times; _bad times_ , but right now, he's shattered. I take over, a little and pull him up, so he's sitting and I'm straddling him and can look at his beautiful, sad face. He never says it anymore. Last time he did, I almost choked on a pretzel. "I know you do Michael," I say, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He stares up at me; gloomy. "No you don't. You don't even know the half of it. You'll never know, but Dean? I can't tell you in words, so I show you with actions that you'll never get, because you're about as dense as thick fog and it hurts you and I can't fucking take it anymore. I've said it, so _fucking_ remember this time."

I laugh even though I'm probably not supposed to. Michael's pouring his… is heart right? Do angels have hearts? I don't know, but Michael does. For me. But he's just so, Michael while doing it. And he's not finished.

"I realized something today," he says.

"How much you love when I take off on you on a horse?"

He scowls and that's far more comforting than his scary, sobbing cry. "You're going to pay for that."

 _Fuck._ There he is again. That's the Michael I'm looking for. How do I keep that?

"Dean, there's something I have to tell you."

"Would you just say it already? You're freaking me the fuck out."

"If you'd be quiet, I'd get to it."

He's nervous. Whatever he has to say to me is big.

"The tutelage from your family members has made me realize, we're a team. I might 'drive the car,' but we discuss where we're going."

"Yeah, Michael. Duh."

He takes a big breath. He's stalling. He doesn't _need_ to do that; take breaths. "Dean, I don't want anyone, but you. I never have and never will."

"What? Michael, are you high?" How much weed does it take to get an angel high?

"I'm not high."

"That's debatable, but your sex record says you do want others, multiple others. You let some jerk suck you off at my nan's house Michael. You can't even keep it in your pants when I'm not around for five minutes." Not to mention, he wouldn't even fuck me.

"There was no one under the bar. I can't deny the others, but I lied about the cock suck because, because I was jealous. I've been jealous all along like with all those yahoos at the beach and _Bradley,_ and it's getting increasingly worse. I can't stand it when anyone's got their filthy little paws all over you. You're mine."

A thrill goes through me when he says that. He doesn't often call me _his_ like that. I mean, sure, he's done it, but not quite like that, like he's only just allowing himself. "Of course I'm yours—Michael, I'm always yours."

He shakes his head. "No. You're everyone else's. I can't really have you and I hate it. The very thing you want, the thing eating you up inside is what I want to give you more than anything, but I can't."

I'm confused. "I feel like we're beating a dead horse here. I know Michael. We've been over this. You can't do monogamy."

He looks skyward then back at me. "I can't have you, because my father said so. He said if he finds out I've devoted myself to you, anything beyond fucking you like a play thing, I have the choice of killing you myself; to give you a quick death, or he'll have one of his angels do it and make it last a long time."

 _What?_ Seriously, what the fuck? I get it now, but I need a fucking second to digest what he's saying. I can't speak, so Michael continues. "I can protect you, as my profound bond, as long as I behave myself. But that's it Dean. No marriage, no dating, even me telling you I love you is fucking risky."

"What the fuck, Michael? Then why are you saying it now?"

"This is a confession. I'm telling all—and I made sure all was clear before doing so."

"Obvious question, why didn't you, 'find an opportunity', to tell me in the first place?"

"I should think the answer just as obvious. I didn't want you concocting a plan to kill him behind my back, so we could be together."

 _That_ is funny. Looks like I'm not the only one who hasn't forgotten about Old Dean. "Michael, why would I do that? For any reason? Not worth it. I'm not st—"

He raises his brows.

"Okay, I'm not _that_ stupid."

"Even Daddy Winchester thought you would. I believe I tanned your hide not long ago for an attempted hunt with your buffoon uncles."

"Daddy knows about this?"

Nod.

"And Papa?"

Nod.

I'm laughing. "You guys are ridiculous. I'm not going to do that. It sucks. It fucking sucks, but even I know I can't kill Lucifer. Now Uncle Jen—"

"No, Dean. As much as I despise those two, Jensen in particular, no one is going after my father and dying over this."

"I was just saying."

I get a firm swat to my ass, which I can feel through my jeans a lot more than Papa's swats. "Okay. I'm not saying anything. Jeez. Why are you bothering to tell me now?"

"Because I realized today that in not telling you, I'm not trusting you. For us to work at all, we must learn to trust one another."

"I trust you with my life Michael."

"Exactly. It's one sided. I haven't been trusting you. There are still some things I can't tell you, Dean that really are better you don't know. More risky than this, but they don't directly affect us. This lie, even though well intended, is ruining us."

I don't even know what to say to that, so I say the first dumb thing that pops into my head. "I haven't exactly acted _trustworthy._ " I'm of course referring to riding off on a horse just because I was pissed at him. Okay, so the idea was inspired by getting back at Brad for his comment, but I really did it because I was in a bad mood over Michael. It's often why I do anything.

"You were misbehaved and we're going to take care of that and this is part of taking care of it," he says, reaching up to push my hair back. "Now you know why we can't be anymore than we are. I don't know if that's going to make it better or worse for you. I'm trusting you to accept it, so we can deal with it together."

"Share the pain together?" I think he learned that from Daddy, maybe Uncle Dal? That's a Colt thing.

"At least it will be the right fucking pain. I can't look at your face when I… When you think I want someone more than you."

I'm still fucking speechless. Am I dreaming? I can't believe what I’m hearing. He doesn't know what to say either. We're both quiet. His eyes get watery again. "Why are you crying? This is, Michael, somehow this is good fucking news."

"We can never be together, but it's good fucking news?"

"But we are together. I realized something too. I just want you, whatever way I can have you. If this is us, it's us. It's a small price to pay." Maybe I will get some of that coaching from Papa and Daddy's friends who don't do monogamy.

"We can't live together. Ever."

"Are you trying to make me upset?"

"No. I'm just trying to make you realize the gravity."

"I do Michael." I convey with my eyes what I don't want to say. This is fucking horrible, I'm trying to make light. Be optimistic, like Daddy would.

He nods (so much fucking nodding) and takes one of my hands, kissing the knuckles again like he was before. This is just this side of too fucking sweet and I know what he's doing, he's allowing himself a moment, doing what he wishes he could do, if we were couplel-y. I love it, but it's fucking depressing me. Boldly, I remove my shirt. "Dean."

"Fuck it, Baby. I want you. You can't tell me all that shit and not expect me to want to fuck you." I'm feeling, well not toppish in the sense of a "make you some rules" kind of top, that's all Michael and it's not that I want to take charge with Michael while I'm fucking him; I'd rather be manhandled any day, but I'm just feeling… more toppy than usual, so add a plus one to zero.

I start kissing him and he can't resist kissing me back. His hands slide up my torso. Then it's him taking over, slamming me onto the bed, we both fumble with jean buttons and when he's finally sliding into me, everything feels different. Not any of that "like it's the first time" crap, just deeper. We're taking us somewhere new and sealing it with sex—how we do. I love how we do.

It's short sex, my parents are still downstairs and Daddy could walk in at any minute, but that makes it so much hotter.

We get dressed. "You know Michael, since you told me something, big, I want to tell you something."

"I think there have been enough big things for one afternoon."

"You'll like it, I swear. I…" Fuck. How many raunchy-ass things have I said and _this_ makes me all shy? "I kinda liked how you were with me today."

"Which part?"

"You're going to make me say it?"

"I don't have enough grace to read your mind Dean."

"Okay fine," I say and hide my face, embarrassed as Hell for unexplainable reasons. "The stuff with the _one way or another_ and you know, I thought maybe you were going to throw me over your shoulder and drag me out of there. That would have been hot."

Michael digs through my suitcase for a shirt having had enough of wearing the ripped one. "The blue one's a bit big on me. Should fit you," I tell him.

He takes my suggestion. "You looked terrified of me."

"Yeah a little, but I loved it." I watch him put my shirt on. "You know, we could have a code. For the thing we're not supposed to say. See how much better it is we're in this together? We can brainstorm ideas."

He tugs me to him and threads his fingers through my hair, pulling me in for a kiss. "What thing? That I love you, Duck?"

That makes my tummy do the best swoop in the world. "Be careful with that," I say. Now look who's being reckless.

"We're fine right now."

"You said you weren't sure before."

"Sure enough. Do you think I'd ever put you in harm's way, intentionally?"

"But how do you _know?_ "

He thinks on it. He's deciding whether to tell me or not. "Gabriel."

"Your uncle?"

"He was here. But enough about that. What's this about a code?"

"I was thinking, it could be something so ridiculous… and we have to be careful _how_ we say it too. I'm assuming he's got spies on you, if we say it all lovey-dovey, he'll know. He's an asshole, not stupid. I know, you call me Hans and I call you Leia, or Princess and we know it means I love you."

"Vetoed. That's stupid. Besides, I was expecting a phrase."

"Oh, you have demands now?"

"Many."

I think of something. "I guess this means I should stay with Brad. It's a good front, me having a boyfriend." And now I see it, or maybe, he's letting me see it now. He tenses at the mention. He doesn't like it. _Really_ doesn't like it—me having a someone other than him. I don't know what to do about that. Maybe it's immature, okay it is immature, but I'm not doing the monogamy thing by myself.

He's like a spring being charged with potential energy, but he manages to hold it all in; I don't know what kind of a hold he has on it. "I want you to break up with Football head. End of story, Dean."

Fuck. Sue me. I want to see what fucking happens. Dean Winchester, enter at your own risk. Fucking noted. "Oh, so just because you say so, I'm supposed to fucking do it? Forget it, Michael."

That does it. The spring snaps. Because I know it's coming, I'm able to jump to the other side of the bed and just out of his reach. I'm laughing; he's not. "Okay Michael. I'm kidding. Got it. Big bad alpha has spoken."

He's not as amused as I am. This time when he lunges, I can't escape him (this is a problem you should be fucking aware of in choosing your Top, Angel-Tops; much harder to thwart) and he catches my arm. In one fall swoop, I'm over his knees and he's spanking me over my jeans. I'm still laughing. "Ow! Fuck! Michael, I was just—"

"Being a fucking brat. I know. This is what I do to brats. You want to brat off, you can get spanked for it," he says. Still spanking me by the way.

It's short as far as spankings go and when he pulls me up, all I've got is a light buzz across my ass, but it is a good reminder to behave. "This mean you're not really going to let Brad spank me?"

"Oh I am, but I'm going to be there and I'm going to watch and then I'm having my turn."

He kisses me. "End of story?" I say.

It takes him a second, but he gets it and what his face does could almost be classified as a proper smile. "End of story, Duck."


	33. Those Who Trespass Together Get Spanked Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, not three chapters. I'm posting this so you don't think I'm dead. I've got chapters in the works for almost all my WIP's, but not a lot is postable. This chapter is longer than usual and three ppl spanked! No it doesn't have the infamous Brad spanking, but that will come in time. Patience is a virtue. 
> 
> I'm a bit nervous to release this chapter because Cas is very... Cas, but he's the way I like him for this story. Just remember, it's only a story, made up, fiction!
> 
> Do you guys want to know story progress? I've been posting it, but maybe I should't be? I'll put it this time and maybe stop unless you wanna know. 
> 
> BDD: Just completed the Summer TS that I need to edit, will be up soon!
> 
> FY: Finally figured out the chapter I didn't like (I think) Posting soon! 
> 
> MMY: Have 3 chapters written, just need to edit. 
> 
> CoH: Have new chapter in the works. 
> 
> GUW: Also something in the works!

I feel like I'm in Kangaroo Court. Yeah, okay that's a complete exaggeration. Kangaroo Court implies that the charges aren't real and that they have no validity, when the totally do, but we did Kangaroo Court in a summer camp I went to once (once because Michael threw such a fucking fuss, my parents didn't send me again) and it kinda has the same feeling because it's me and Michael (who already looks uncomfortable, since he's still not been able to clean himself up) sitting in the two leather chairs in the Colt library slash office, before Papa who's behind the desk and Daddy who's sitting behind us. We're surrounded in the same way the camp counselors had at camp and I feel just as nervous.

I've finished relaying all events to Papa (since Michael already relayed his version in an earlier conversation) and had to continually convince myself to soldier on, as his frown deepened. This whole thing was stupid, I can see that now. I basically had a temper tantrum. I wish I could go back in time and not be a fucking brat. Michael looks equally remorseful, neither one of us able to look at my parents; not straight in the eye anyway.

Daddy insisted I tell Papa about Jake and the money, which I thought Daddy would have told him by now for me, but I guess Daddy's pretty displeased by my behavior too, wanting me to have to say it to Papa's face. Fair. Daddy's big on how hard Papa works for us and not taking advantage. Papa's not going to be pleased, but he's not as strict as Daddy about it. I've had enough lectures from Daddy to feel shitty about it all on my own, but having to look at his face and tell him, kills me.

But I get the feeling I should save the part about Jake being a hunter for later. I have a strong feeling Daddy _would_ have told him that part, but it feels like it's a topic in and of itself and one that Michael's going to _freak_ about.

But for now, my idiocy.

Papa's arms are in their crossed position. "Let me see if I understand, you weren't finished bratting even after I spanked you, so you had a huge temper tantrum, which affected us all; had everyone out looking for you, including Grampa, made Michael late, almost lost Uncle Dallas's Kenny Chesney hat and you were going to pay two thousand dollars to some kid to be your fake boyfriend? Is that correct, Mister Winchester?"

"Whoa, not boyfriend—just, uh, you know, kissing and maybe a 'date' or something."

"Not better Dean," Papa says.

For the incensed Archangel in the building, it is, but I don't voice this disagreement with Papa now.

"I think it's pretty clear why you're both about to be punished, but if there is any confusion, speak now or forever hold your peace."

No. Nu-uh. No confusion. Both Michael and I shake our heads, unable to speak.

"Dean, you're owed a lot of spankings and I have half a mind to let each person dole out what you rightfully have coming in a line-up format if need be. Sitting on a sore bottom for a week is definitely one way to reestablish the discipline, clearly lost in the short time you were sick. Especially since the spanking I gave you this morning didn't seem to do the trick."

Yeah… I look at the ground and slink down in my chair trying to hide.

"But Michael has told me his plans to discipline you and I agree and am satisfied."

Wait, what? "You are, sir?" I want Papa to like Michael, but they don't have to be _that_ close.

"I am. I'm still going to spank you and it's going to be a thorough spanking, so you can comprehend how not pleased I am. Michael you are going to receive a reminder spanking as well—when Dean's bratting off, it's your responsibility to be his rock, not dissolve into a jealous rage, no matter how much you want to." I sense they will be talking further about jealous rages. I hope Michael doesn't listen too well, I kinda liked his jealous rage.

We both get what Papa means. The dumb decisions I made were the result of how I felt after our continued fighting. I still chose to act that way, that's on me, but Michael didn't do his part; didn't play his role. There was every chance I would have done what I did anyway, but he should have done his best to put a stop to my nonsense.

"This isn't a problem that began today, it's been going on awhile now. I've had numerous conversations with you both and I'm not pleased with the outcome."

Father has used a lot of 'not pleaseds.' I really don't like where this is going. I get a worried pit in my stomach and have to look back to Daddy for a little comfort. He's almost as firm and resolute as Papa, his arms crossed too—they're both fucking firm on whatever Papa's decided, but he does offer me some warmth from his eyes.

"It's my job to help you both, as Head of House. Since you two cannot handle this on your own, I must either intervene, or ask you to end it."

What? Shit-fuck. This I did not expect, though I should have. Papa's warned me plenty; that he's continuing to warn me speaks of his reluctance to end us. I reach out to grab Michael's hand, without really thinking much about it, like Papa could take him away at any moment.

"I take that to mean you'd both welcome my intervening."

Michael is in shock too. If not by his return death grip on my hand, I can feel it pouring off of him in other ways. Michael and I really are one person sometimes and it's times like these I'm reminded of all the years we've spent together becoming that person; moving, thinking as one.

Other times, it's like we've never met before.

"Yes, sir," Michael says for us both. I'm in awe of how resolute he sounds.

"Very well. You're both on severe restriction, which means you can expect not to have my permission to go on excursions together for the foreseeable future, since you two cannot be trusted to behave _together_ on your own. We'll revisit this when I say so, not before."

This is sounding far too much like Michael earlier and like it's going to suck, but anything's better than breaking up. Jesus!

"Just pretend you're three again, Mr. Winchester. If the pair of you want to behave like children, you can be watched over like them too."

"Yes, sir."

"But on the topic of what you do with your money—Dean, don't make me have to monitor that too. My instinct is to make you surrender your bank card, but you haven't shown irresponsibility in that area for a long time and I'm going to group that decision under more of the same in your 'Michael choices,' so my current sentence will suffice for now, do it again and you can say goodbye to that too."

"Yes, sir." Okay, I really don't want that, which has nothing to do with not being able to buy shit—as if I don't have more than what I need. I can tell that Papa would be beside himself with disappointment, if he had to do that. He's right; I know better.

"We have another matter to talk about as well, but first; Michael, pants off."

Michael gets up without complaint and removes his pants, acting real stoic, but I know Michael likes to fail Papa as much as I do. Papa removes his belt, which is always a defining moment, since you can almost hear it slide out of the loops, the buckle jangling. He folds it in half and asks Michael to bend over the desk.

Daddy hasn't said a word, but I can tell he's in complete agreement with Papa. Papa may have the final say, but Daddy's a huge influence. Both of them have had enough of our nonsense and he looks very much Captain of the ship Colt, as he watches the proceedings.

Papa is short, but precise with his strap after he's bared Michael's ass. It's an effective lesson, getting punished with your partner in crime, something Michael and I have experienced many times before. It's yet another kind of bonding experience. I've been through this with more than just Michael—the Colt cousins are trouble, that's all I'm saying.

Papa ensures Michael's ass and thighs are red and I can't help wincing with him on each whack. Knowing I'm next is its own kind of feeling. The reason you've earned a spanking weighs on you and the anxiety of what's coming builds. There's such relief when it's over and you've made amends, you just want to get to that part.

Papa's hard enough on Michael that he can't help rubbing a little when Papa tells him he can stand up. I can tell readjusting his clothes is not fun. Michael isn't crying though. Sure his eyes are wet from the sting of it and his face is red, but that's not quite the same as _crying._

He does go immediately over to get his daddy hug. I should be afraid of Papa right now, because he's not putting his belt away, but I'm too amused with Michael's behavior. "Dean," Papa says.

I stand and head over to him, remembering how much trouble I'm in. "Yes, sir?"

"Do you know why I'm using this?"

All too well. "Because I didn't behave after the first spanking and you've had to talk to me about the same thing over again far too many times—but I do swear you were getting through Father. I'm a hard-headed Winchester sometimes." I don't like him to think he's failed me.

That gets me a smile and he doesn't scold me for trying to charm him during a punishment. "Well I think this will. Pants off Dean and over the desk please."

"Yes, sir."

Papa is just as thorough with me. And he doesn't spare his strength—he means business. He keeps a steady tempo that almost reminds me of Uncle Dal. If fucking hurts. I do cry, but I'm different than Michael. I need to cry sometimes and Papa knows that. After, Papa helps me with my clothes and I hope with whatever Michael's going to do to me, it doesn't include his favorite paddle, since I don't think I'm sitting for awhile. Papa pulls me into his arms and kisses my head. "Be a good boy now, Mr. Winchester."

"I will, Papa." I can tell this has been one of those time where while he's sure of the punishment he should give and that I deserve it, he wishes it was one he didn't have to give. He'll always give me what I need though, so he did his papa-thing and sincerely hopes I will behave. I squeeze him tighter. Poor Papa. "Thank you Papa."

I turn, thinking I'll see Michael smirking at me as usual, but he's not, he's crying—tears streaming down his cheeks and everything. What the? He's frozen and I don't know what his problem is. Me being spanked is nothing he hasn't seen before—I've been spanked in front of him loads of times in fact. I wipe my arm across my eyes, to make sure it's not just my own tears making me see things, but I'm not, he's really upset.

"Go'on sweet pea," Daddy says to Michael, guiding him in my direction. Michael makes his way over, a little unsure at first, but when he looks to Papa and gets a nod, his posture resumes the resolute demeanor I expect from him. He pulls me to him.

"What's up with you Michael?"

"I… didn't like that."

I laugh. "As if. You're always talking about how much I deserve to be spanked, you even rat me out if you need to—ooaf!"

I'm pulled to him tighter, in a crushing grip. One I can't pry out of if I wanted to. I don't.

Papa gives us a few moments like that before he clears his throat. "Dean, Michael, we still have something to discuss, if you would please sit."

Sit? Papa's gotta be kidding. Michael releases me and I find out Papa's not, so I sit, if gingerly. Michael's not giving Papa a very good look. I think his alpha is rearing its head again; probably more of that in the future. "If you don't like that Michael then do your job." Papa doesn't feel sorry for him. I look over to Daddy who's smiling as if everything's right in the world.

"It doesn't help that you're in the mood you're in, but Michael, I expect proper decorum from you for this next bit. Can I count on you for that? Or should we wait?"

"Is it something to do with Dean, sir?"

"Yes," Papa says.

Oh fuck. Papa's about to tell Michael about Jake and him being a hunter and he's going to fucking lose it. I try to get up to run to Daddy, but Michael's faster; he grips my wrist and yanks me down, keeping his hand on mine and securing it to my thigh. "Then I'd like to hear it, please."

Daddy walks over to stand beside Papa. "Cas," he says and that's all he says. They have one of their patented, team daddies wordless conversations and Papa nods. Daddy takes over. "When Dean and I went back to get the hat, we found out something about Jake."

Michael's fucking hand digs into my thigh. "Ow! Fu-udge, Michael." There are going to be bruises from that. Daddy and Papa glare at him.

"Sorry, please continue," Michael says.

Michael looks anything but fine and I know Daddy recognizes that, but I think Daddy's going for the Band-Aid approach—just rip it off. No sense in having him calm down over whatever the hell he was upset about, just to rile him again.

"You're not going to like this. I think you should take three calming breaths, Michael," Daddy says.

I really don't think Daddy's yoga-crap is going to work right now and Michael doesn't either. "So long as he's not a demon, I'll be fine."

Daddy nods. "He's a hunter."

"Hunter? A hunter? That's worse. Dean you're not to go within three feet of him."

I roll my eyes. "Michael—"

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, you still have another spanking coming, we can make it two if you want to continue to argue with me. You will obey me."

I shut the Hell up, because thinking about another spanking at this juncture is not something I want to do. That and Michael's angel is showing—you don't fuck with the angel. I do look over at Daddy for help.

Papa speaks first. "Michael. Decorum, please."

I'm relieved when Michael relaxes a little, but he's not out of 'Angel-of-the-Lord' mode by far. "Yes, sir."

Papa continues. "To be clear, we were not inviting opinions, this is a parental discussion, one Sam and I have already had, on which I make the final decision. We felt you needed to know, but we are handling it. Am I understood?"

Michael grits his teeth. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you. It is of no consequence that I agree one hundred percent with Michael. Dean, you're not to go near that boy."

Michael smirks, happy with the outcome. I'm indifferent. I wasn't planning on hanging out with Jake—he's a douche anyway—and I get Michael and Papa, used to their over protective instincts. Hell, they've both been known to get edgy around Uncle Jared and Uncle Jensen. Uncle Bobby's the only hunter they seem to not butt heads with. Of course, Uncle Bobby doesn't do field work anymore, but he's still the number one resource for hunters. Especially when they're in trouble.

So yeah, I get the whole thing—this isn't new ground—but for some reason underneath my indifference the tiniest amount of annoyance. Like a mosquito landing on your arm. None of that matters anyway; Papa has spoken. Arguing with Papa isn't on, notably, when he's this worried.

Daddy seems to notice what I'm feeling, however small and comes over to sit on the arm of the chair, pulling me to him to relax me.

Daddy must be looking at Papa in a way that tells him to say more (Papa's normally good at knowing everything to say, but his concern can make his mind go down one track and forget the others) because he adds, "I'm sorry kiddo. I know how to protect you best."

"And I'm your boyfriend, I know how to protect you best too."

Michael's my boyfriend now? I'm definitely celebrating that later, but for now, they're just being two overprotective so and so's. There's not much I can do about it, except pout.

"Okay, I love both my alpha-male boys, but we need to turn it down just a notch. And…" I look up at Daddy, he's chewing his lip. Fuck. What did he do? I try to remember; nothing comes to mind. "Cas, I'm sorry, I, I told Jake he could count on us. I didn't mean to, it just came out and I…I didn't know how to tell you."

Oh fuck, right. His invite had seemed fine and usual at the time, because it would have been under normal circumstances; but the hunter thing is what makes it not cool.

Everything feels like it's sinking. Daddy didn't tell Papa something? They don't keep things from the other. It's worse when Daddy does it than when Papa does, which doesn't seem fair on the outside, but their personalities are different. Daddy's more likely to ease Papa's concerns over whatever it is Papa couldn't say, but Papa can't handle not knowing something about Daddy. Daddy'll need to make amends through spanking—that's how he's wired inside, like me.

For now, Papa isn't happy. Like, really, really not fucking happy. "You did that without consulting me and you didn't tell me." Two broken rules. Daddy doesn't break rules often. "Well, this conversation was meant to inform Michael with Samuel and me present, but it would appear that _Samuel_ and I have more to discuss before official protocol is decided. We will do so and you two will be informed. For now, I need to recess."

Papa looks hurt. Daddy squeezes my shoulders to reassure me quietly that all will be fine.

 _I don’t like this. Don't like this at all._ This means my parents are fighting.

Papa gets up. "You two, not a toe off this property without my say so and I'm not in a generous mood, so don't bother asking."

Yeah, as if we couldn't figure that one out.

"You too, Samuel."

"But…" Daddy's protest dies on his lips. Daddy was supposed to go over to Aunt Georgia's. "Yes, sir."

Papa storms out, but the three of us can feel the thick air he leaves behind a long while after. "What the heck happened, Daddy? That was your big plan?"

"No," he says fondly irritated with Papa. "He wouldn't let me get to that part. I really should have told him, you know how he gets, but I…" Daddy can't finish that thought and I get the impression it's because he's puzzled by the 'why' of it himself. When it comes to Jake, I get it. That guy is something… "I messed up sweetheart, can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive Daddy, but if you need it, of course—it can be fixed though, right?"

"It can always be fixed," Daddy says.

"Allow me to put it to you both another way," Michael chimes in (I kinda forgot he was here) disrupting our version of a Full House moment. "If _Jake_ comes within three feet of you, his hunting days will be over." Michael doesn't wait for a reply, he storms out in much the same way Papa did (except with far more anger) and I feel about as good as Daddy does. _We hate them upset._

Daddy's got more experience though and he's over it pretty quick. "Those two—two peas in a pod; always have been."

Just when I thought Michael and I were going to not fight every five minutes. "What was your big plan, Daddy?"

"I was going to get Uncle Dal in here to mediate."

"Yeah, that would have worked."

"Hunting is a sore subject with your father and he can't help how it makes him feel. He's allowed, Papa's aren't perfect all the time."

"I know, but he's pretty close." Actually, Papa's perfect to me. Michael too.

"Besides, what I did was a huge breach of contract. I don’t really recommend it Dean, but I dunno that I can explain it. Something about Jake… well he made me feel like I always felt with Michael."

"Like Michael? Jake's the furthest thing from Michael. It sounds like he has a real Dad for starters. Michael's is Luci-dick."

"Excuse me, Sur?"

"Sorry, Daddy. He's not _really_ his dad though."

"Well no, he's not his dad," Daddy says with something like hatred burning in his eyes. "but he is his father. I get what you're saying though, but if he was anything like your dad…"

Daddy stops there. We don't talk about how John parented Old Dean often and when we do, Daddy usually says nice things about John and he means them, but it's no secret that he doesn't agree with some of his parenting practices and he hates thinking about me (as he says) cold and alone. I don't know if I was, can't remember, but I don't think he could be too far off.

Uncle Jared and Uncle Jensen, well let's just say it's a good thing they're brothers who have each other _and_ a family they can rely on. Every now and again, they do take a break from hunting, it's rare, but they've done it. Overall, they love hunting.

"I'm sorry Dean Bean, I just hate thinking of you—"

"Cold and alone," I say at the same time as him. "I know Daddy."

"It wasn't just Michael I thought of," he admits. "Dean, Jake reminds me most of you that day we found you and—"

Daddy was getting a bit worked up. "—Shh, I know, Daddy. I know." I also know Daddy's feeling a little imperfect himself. "And you are perfect if you want my opinion. I bet you're a little frazzled too, after today."

I lean into him more and look up at him, he presses my hair away from my forehead and kisses me there. "A little Dean Bean. Are you feeling anymore like you did earlier?"

"No. I don't think so. I mean—and I don't want to worry you Daddy—something is different. Off. But nothing like earlier."

He nods and squeezes me tighter. "Should we keep this between us for now?"

He shakes his head. "We can't baby boy. I shouldn't have kept that much from your father in the first place and I wasn't keeping it really, just trying to figure out how to tell him what I did. There didn't seem to be a good time either. He was really worried when you guys didn't come back, we all were, and he stayed that way. You know how your father gets."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, c'mon. I could use a distraction and this hair is getting a bit long, how about we go cut it?"

Daddy used to cut hair for his siblings. We go to the barber often, but every once in a while, Daddy likes to do it for old time's sake. "Sure, Daddy."

"Then we'll eat. You need aloe, pumpkin?"

"Naw. I'm okay." And I'll get Michael to do it later when he's cooled off—if he cools off.

**

I'm half way through my Dean tacos Daddy whipped up (which I opt to eat standing) when Michael comes in looking too fresh. He's showered, back in his 'Michael' clothes and's got a suspicious smile on his face. He's not fooling anyone. "What did you do, Sur?" That's Daddy.

Granddaddy Colt's at the table eating his own taco (we told him what happened, him and Nana are in the know considering Jen and Jared, though they don't like to know _everything_ so they don't mind if we talk in a little code sometimes; they ask when they want to know something) amused by whatever's about to happen. "All taken care of Daddy Winchester. Our most recent problem is one we don't have to worry about anymore."

Daddy puts his hands on his hips. "I hope that's not true. If it is you can grab me a spoon."

That scares sense into Michael. "Fine. It's not true, but I did think of a way to make this all go away." He's still smiling. Plotting. I eat my taco. Anything I say right now is bound to get me a lecture and irritate him more. I don't want him to think I don't respect him. "It only takes a phone call."

"No, Michael."

That wipes the smile, suspicious or otherwise, right off his face. Granddaddy is eyeing Michael like he's a chess piece he's deciding how to move. "What do you think is gonna happen, on account of this Jake fella, Sur?" When Granddaddy says 'Sur,' it doesn't sound as much like a scolding, more of an amused sort of epithet.

"Hunters aren't safe. They attract trouble."

"They also never stick around," Granddaddy points out. "Dean's not gonna run off to be a hunter with Jake. I'll make sure you don't have to do anything silly. Now let that be an end to that notion."

"Yes, sir."

I want to laugh. Michael's furious, but there's no one on Earth that will say anything back to Granddaddy Colt, when he means business like that. Well, okay, not 'no one' but let's just say it's a bad idea and it won't be Michael. And also, Granddaddy should have been at our meeting, it would have gone a lot better. Daddy shoves a plate with a taco on it, in Michael's hand. "Why don't you two go'on outside and eat?" It's not a suggestion.

Daddy knows how I'm feeling. I'm not keen to talk to Michael, but I've _got_ to talk to Michael at the same time; we head out. Both of us stand near the deck table, neither one of us wanting to sit down just yet, but Michael does put his taco down and stares at me until I realize I've got to be the one to calm him down this time. I set my plate down next to his and approach him carefully. I bite my lip, picking up his hand with both of mine and feeling its solid weight before I place it at the small of my back. He's in pain. Inside. And I understand his turmoil—he can't help how much he worries. Being a human with that feeling is hard enough, being an angel, that's something else all together. I don't want him to feel like that.

"I do trust you Dean, but somehow that's not enough. Your grandfather is right, a ban is superficial but it…"

"It makes you feel like you're doing something? Control when there isn't any?"

He nods. He's just like Papa.

"What if I promised you I wouldn't seek him out? That's kinda the same, right?"

"If they're the same then why argue with me? Just obey me."

_There's that too. Being obeyed…_

Fuck. I can't help it. Michael is sexy as fuck when he says shit like that, even if it pisses me off sometimes. "I'm sorry Dean, I need this," he adds. He's quiet when he says it and I know it is just that, a need he can't let go of. And maybe I am finally starting to grow up, a little, because I understand and I want to give him that, need to. Jake's a douche anyway. Whatever weird feeling I feel around him, is just that, a weird fucking feeling. I just can't seem to shake that I'm supposed to know him for some reason and I'm not the only one; Daddy feels something too.

We press closer together, like magnets, Michael holding me and me trying to seep my kind of support into him, assurance that yes he can control any situation, however superficial that control might be in any given situation. This is mostly an exercise in trust building anyway, I get that.

"What was up with you earlier? You, crying after your spanking?"

"I was not."

"You were, Michael."

He huffs. "Fine. I was. But it wasn't because of being spanked, it was because of you."

"It's not like you haven't seen it before. Or like I didn't deserve it."

"You did deserve it. Every swat and more for that matter. I was crying because, I let you down Duck."

"Even I know I'm responsible for my own actions."

"Yes. You are, but if I had at least tried to do my job then there was the slightest chance this could have been prevented."

"It's me Michael. I'd say there was no chance."

"I still say some of the responsibility was mine. I hated seeing you punished when I feel I could have prevented it this time. I'm going to do better for you, Duck."

"I know you always do your best. What was with the glaring at Papa?"

Michael narrows his eyes. "I respect that he is your father, but I prefer your discipline to be my job."

"Ha! Good luck with that one."

"I know."

We sway some more, our tacos getting cold. Eventually we chance sitting, which still sucks, so we find a place to lie on the grass and laugh at what we did, feeling lucky my parents let us live. "What would you have done if we were your kids?" I ask.

"Exactly what Papa Winchester did."

"He's not here, you don't have to suck up to him."

"I'm serious. Only our kids won't actually have the opportunity to do something this foolish with the detail of angels I'd have on them all the time."

Our kids. He says that like it's going to happen, even though it's not and I can't help but love it, even though I'm nowhere near wanting kids. I laugh, very glad my parents decided shortly after they brought me home to axe the detail they had hired. I'm sure Daddy had to do some serious finagling to get him to agree to that. Oh God. I've fallen in love with my father. "Did you mean what you said earlier? Boyfriends?"

Michael knocks on my head. "Helllooo. Anyone home in there? What did I tell you earlier?"

"I know, but you said—"

"—and you said we were in this together."

My whole body flushes. I want to reach across and take his hand, but I don't in case… in case. "We are Michael. We definitely are." I continue to assure him, because he should get assurance, but the more we secure our relationship, some of the assurance I was feeling earlier slips away. What _am_ I going to do when I see him with someone else? Worse, what's he going to do?

Okay, so maybe I'm realizing that optimism is going to be hard sometimes, but we'll figure it out. How hard can it be?

**

I can barely face Cas. I know Cas is so upset because of the nature of the situation, the hunting thing drives Cas mental, well, of late anyway. Dean's almost hunting adventure bothered him more than he let on to Dean, which shows, yet again, what a good Papa Cas is—he stuck to protocol even though he really didn't want to. He wanted to bring the hammer down a lot harder, but he's always been consistent with Dean.

I know what I did, I'm not sure why I did it (little thinking went into my decision), except that I know Jake reminded me of Michael, but especially of Dean when we first met him. Even Dean didn't know how lost and vulnerable he looked. Sure, he was tough, could get by taking care of himself, but he was alone. Alone and cold with no one. Jake is too. I know he's a 'tough-guy' hunter, but I can see inside him, like I could Dean and like I can Michael.

I haven't seen Cas in a couple hours. My guess is he's up in our room, reading, if he hasn't gone out and he hasn't. I knock and he says to come it. He doesn't look mad, but he's cool. "Can we talk, Cassy?"

"I'm sorry, Baby. I couldn't stay or I was going to lose it—I know you don't like when I leave conversations, but it was for the best. You shouldn't have told a hunter he could stop by anytime he wanted, without discussing it with me—Winchester Way, or none. That we have another special agreement underscores that."

I can't help it. I smile. "Do you still think after all these years I'm going to back out of our agreement? You know I love it. I made a mistake Cas, a big one—Dean said I'm allowed once in awhile."

Cas puts his book down. "You are. C'mere, Baby." He opens his arms for me. I fall into them. I think the words, _I hate when we fight,_ as he says them.

"That wasn't even our biggest fight," I say.

"We shouldn't have fights. Dean says we're not allowed," Cas says. "Speaking of, how is my unruly son?"

"He's fine Cas, if you mean about earlier, but we have to talk about some things."

"There's more?"

I tell him about our trip, everything, including what seemed to be the appearance of Old Dean. Cas isn't happy. "I'm sorry, Sam. I want Dean around Jake even less after hearing this."

"I know I just—"

"—he's not a stray cat and he's most certainly not Dean. No. He's not coming around here. That's final."

 _Stubborn, overprotective, Tops._ And if that were it for me, I'd let it go completely, but something's there; a mild annoyance like a… like a mosquito. As is, I accept Cas's decision. "Okay, Cas. I think he fled anyway."

"Yeah, why's that? You threaten him with your spoon?"

"Close to. He was acting like I did."

Cas laughs. "All right, let's get this done. Two rules Sam, retrieve the paddle please." He smacks my ass and kisses my lips.

I head over to the closet and grab the black, paddle out of Cas's suitcase and hand it to him as he hops off the bed. He's taken his socks off; I can see his bare feet—I love Cas's bare feet and he knows. He sees me noticing.

"Shouldn't you be in less clothes?"

"Yes, sir." I jump to task, stripping down to my t-shirt only—Cas has a bit of a kink for that, me almost naked, but not quite all the way naked. I bend over and touch my ankles. Even after all these years, I have no love for this position. It's a good position for me, since I try to avoid it.

Cas and I have been together for what feels like a hundred years. We both know why I'm being punished right now, but sometimes he likes to hear it. "How did you earn this spanking, pray tell?" he says as he begins the spanking.

I wince at a hefty whack of his hand; he doesn't start light with me, like he does Dean. "Ah! I broke two rules, sir. I made a big decision without you, I didn't tell you before we talked to Dean." _I should have._

He's not holding back today, it's early on and I can already feel the bite of this spanking.

"You know what I think? I think you were pulling a bit of a Dean," he says not letting up one bit. It's hard not to fidget, Cas really doesn't like when I fidget. I do break form slightly and bend my right knee, he doesn't ease off and there are tears in my eyes from the sting. Yeah already. "Ask for forgiveness instead of permission with the hope I'd feel obligated to follow through on _your_ promise. Would you say that's accurate?"

"It's accurate, Sir," I say in a strained voice. I kinda just did it, but it was because I felt compelled and yeah, I had hoped Cas would go along with it (I know, when has Cas ever done that?) but that's not how we work. Cas finally gives me a small break and rubs for me while I catch my breath. Cas's spankings usually leave me feeling like I've been sprinting.

It's not long before he starts up again. This time with the paddle, which I gotta say, sometimes even I want to throw off a bridge—especially with the way he's using it now; fast, alternating whacks that go on and on.

By the end, I'm apologizing, crying and Lordy bee, I can barely keep still, only just. I definitely get the full two spankings worth and I'm relieved when Cas tells me I can stand up. He hands me the terrible thing. "Go put that back, please."

"Yes, sir." I don’t always _need_ to rub, but this is one of the times I do—doesn't mean I will, or will get to. I place the paddle away carefully. I've made the mistake of tossing it in before, that landed me right back over Cas's knee; I really don't want another spanking right now.

"That was a lot of spankings in one day, even for me," Cas says, amused.

I hurry back, I want my after spanking cuddles with Cas. They're without a doubt the best thing. He pulls off his shirt, before yanking me down on the bed with him and surrounding me. I don't know how he does it, with my size, but I always feel surrounded by him. I nuzzle in. "Thank you, Cas. That was intense."

Cas kisses my neck and digs his hands into my ass, which is hot in the literal sense right now, hard enough I have to hiss. My cock lights up. "Don't do it again Sam. Not with that. I mean it." Kiss. Kiss. Suck.

"I won't, Cassy. I'm sorry—really. I…" I can't finish, my voice is watery, I hate having hurt Cas.

"Oh Baby, it's okay. I know you were having nostalgia, over Dean." He sighs and runs fingers through my hair. "It's over now. Let's put this whole thing behind us."


	34. The Day that Wouldn't End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two more chapters for this one, but still a little work to do on the other two. This one's ready though. I _think_ you'll figure out what's happening by the end of this chapter. Pretty sure. If not, you'll know by the end of chapter 36. Quite a bit of Chally to come.

We're hiding. I know that makes us bad family members, but we need a break. Besides, anything else is poor competition to a naked Christian in my arms. He's sprawled on top of me, his beautiful, naked ass up in the air. He hasn't done anything—since getting me drunk at the party—but man do I want to spank it.

"Either spank it, or suck it, or take a picture, but stop starin' at my ass, Dals."

I accept his invitation with a mighty thwhack to his cute ass. He laughs and lifts his head. "You think it's safe to go down yet?"

"Don't care if it is. Want you all to myself a little longer," I say, using my hands and the physics of leverage to scoop him from under his armpits and drag him to kissing height. He puts a knee down to either side of me and I start a lazy kiss, which he decides to add aggression to. I know what that means. He doesn't fight me when I flip him over, he smiles a short smile into our kiss—he got what he wanted—and I slide onto his cock, still open enough from our previous session. "That what you wanted, brat?"

"Uh-huh." He reaches for my hand, the one with his ring on it. I may be the Top, but he's the possessive one and he keeps reaching for it, feeling it.

"I ain't gonna disappear, Chris," I tell him, pumping his cock in and out of my ass slowly.

"Then don't go to the stupid stag thing your friends have planned."

We're still semi-arguing about that. My friends started planning it, whether I wanted them to or not the night of the engagement party. He's not a fan of stags, it's called being a Winchester.

I really dominate him then, fucking him hard to the point he stops thinking of things—things like stags—and I have him moaning and arching his back into another orgasm. "Not fair," he says.

"I want to go, Chris. I said you could come if you want." I don't care about the stag thing so much as I do hanging out with all my friends—I don't want to turn them down either. We've been over this in past; I've gotta hang out with my friends, without him pitching a fit. It looks like this is always gonna be a thing with Chris and I, I knew that long ago.

"That's stupid. A groom doesn't go to his groom's stag."

"And a groom doesn't miss his own stag. Aren't your friends doing anything for you?"

"Dun know yet. I don't need one though." He's pouting.

"They will and when they do, you have my blessing to go have fun—flirt with the stripper if you want."

"Stripper? No. No way, Dallas. You're not having a stripper. That's final."

I chuckle. "No strippers, sweetheart. I was talking about for you."

He pushes me away, insulted and grabs for his boxer briefs. "I don't want one neither. This whole stags business is a stupid tradition."

Whoa. He's pissed. "C'mere my little hornet," I say once he's got his boxers on. I help him with the rest of it, his t-shirt and jeans and crown him with the Chesney hat. Don't know what I would have done if Dean had lost this. Of course I'd have forgiven Dean, but my heart panged when he said it was gone in a way that I didn't expect. This hat's become something between us. Even when we weren't together, Chris wore the hat. It's been like a tether that kept pulling us toward each other. Was too much of a bad omen getting lost, I'd rather look at the hat as something that finds things; like helping us find each other. "What do you think's gonna happen?" He hands me my shirt.

"I don't, I _don't_ know." His lip is trembling more than I can handle. Maybe this one's not so clear cut as the other times. I have to think about this one; confer with Cas. Chris knows I don't let him dictate my social calendar and he knows we have rules; 'cept sometimes, well sometimes it's not that black and white.

I dress quickly and pull him off the bed where he was sitting and squeeze him tight. "C'mon, let's go eat somethin', we'll talk about this more later."

**

Papa and Daddy stayed closer to each other than usual for the rest of the night. And I'm glad for it. Means they've patched thing up. Them fighting isn't okay with me. Ever. Daddy was hanging off him when they came to tell us they'd made the parental decision about Jake. "We're keeping our distance from him. And that means all of us, Michael," Papa said to him, which made Michael's smile frown.

Personally I like the decision. It's the best decision for the family and I can always get on board with that, sometimes it just takes me awhile.

Granddaddy and Nana had an awesome barbeque for us, which was quiet as far as Colt barbeques go. Uncle Chris and Uncle Dally are here of course (Uncle Dally's staying here, which means Uncle Chris is too, mostly, since they're attached at the hip, though they have gone to Uncle Chris's place some).

It's dark by the time we're excused from the table. I want to ask Papa if we can take a car to visit someone, but I remember we're grounded, asking would be stupid. We're supposed to stay within sight of one of them unless otherwise specified. Which is why Michael picking up the blanket piled on the bench by the screen door and holding out his hand confuses me. I look to Papa who nods. It looks like Michael's made some kind of prearrangement with him to take me outside; something tells me we're not having a fucking picnic. He's got flashlights too. The whole thing's rigged.

Nana and Granddaddy have a sizable property. We trek out so far, I think we're pushing the envelope of where we're supposed to go unsupervised, but Michael seems to have a plan, so I follow his lead. He holds my hand, I carry the blanket, he uses his other to carry the flashlight we don't quite need yet.

We make it to the barn, but we don't go in. We set up a blanket by the large willow near the barn and settle even _cuddling_ for a little bit, watching the sun setting before he speaks. "I believe we have a matter to settle between us, Duck." His voice is quiet, in the still heat.

I nod into him. "Yeah, I'm, Michael I'm sorry."

"I know you are, but I plan on following through, a lot of our problem is sometimes I do and sometimes I don't. You need this, I've always known that, but today was defining."

"What are you going to do?"

"Spank you. Good."

"I was already spanked today. Good."

"And now you're getting another one. Your father was right, we all should have lined up to take turns, you're lucky it's only going to be the two."

This is going to suck. With the look in his eyes though, I think better of arguing, for like a second. "Now Michael, maybe you need to—"

"Believe me, I thought about this and discussed it with your father. There is no more I need to do except hand out consequences. Undo your pants please."

I resign myself to this spanking; it's happening and the fucked up thing I don't know I'll ever be able to properly explain? Him doing this, just like this—me trying to get out of the spanking I know I deserve and him saying, _that's nice Dean but it's happening one way or another_ —gives me something I can't explain, the thing I need and crave. I undo my jeans (I'm wearing nice airy ones, with lots of holes) I even pull them down part way for him. I always give myself modesty; everyone else seems to have a thing for taking my clothes all the way down.

Which Michael does soon as I'm over his knees. He pulls everything down to my ankles. "Michael."

"I need to access everything, Duck." I can hear the smirk in his voice.

"You're having way too much fun back there."

"Hmmm, fun might be too strong a word at this juncture, I'd go with a mixture of joy and content that you are about to get your comeuppance. I don't think you realize the consequence of your actions to me, to _us._ "

"I do Michael. I'm sorry."

Michael smoothes a hand over my sore ass. I can still feel where Papa's strap had its own lecture today. "No. You don't. I'm an _angel_ Dean and not as human as you think I am. I _need_ you to behave. You can't take off like that. You're going to have to throw other kinds of tantrums."

"What difference does it make? You'd spank me anyway."

"True. But this was way over the line and I’m going to make sure you remember for a few days." Got it, some things unsettle him more than others. "This my Duck, looks awfully red."

He's still washing his hand over my ass making it prickle with all kinds of sensations from nice to hurt-y. Then he releases a few spanks over my spanking. They _hurt._ I try not to squeeze the cheeks of my ass too hard. It's not like I've never gotten a spanking over a spanking before—I know how this goes—but doesn't make it anymore fun.

He spends a reasonable amount of time there, then moves to my thighs. Normally, I'd not be looking forward to having my thighs spanked, but this time, there's some fucking relief. After spending some time there, he pauses. "I'm not having a discussion about this Dean, I'm just going to lay it out for you: Taking off like you did is not okay. Ever. I'm not capable of handling that. Am I understood?" He starts spanking again.

"Ow! Yes, sir."

"You further disobeyed me after I yelled after you. You didn't think about the consequences your actions would have for everyone else," he repeats, I can understand why. "Your father may have highlighted this to you earlier, but I am too. I'm not going to do Double Jeopardy clauses with you—misbehave and get spanked by your father, you can most definitely expect a spanking from me to follow right after. Is that clear?"

 _I knew I shouldn't have gotten him to watch that fucking movie._ "You're—ow—clear sir!"

From there he works my ass over and I'm crying because it hurts. I already got absolution earlier from my father's spanking. This one is pure consequence. I'm crying and feeling sorry, but I'm not going through every emotion from here to sunrise. I'm just a sorry little boy getting a well deserved spanking.

He doesn't use anything but his hand, he doesn't have to; I'm kicking and squirming plenty. I even reach back to cover my poor backside as I'm swearing up and down I'll be a good little Dean Winchester now and for forever. It doesn't do me any good. He simply pins my hands to the small of my back in one of his, determined to finish what he'd planned on. I can't help but admire him for it. He's being stern and strict and holding me accountable, just how I like.

When it's over, I'm a mess of tears, freshly sore and repentant. I also feel good. So, so good. Warm and taken care of and ready for some after spanking cuddles, which I get in full. "You were a naughty, naughty duckling," he scolds fondly as he cradles me and kisses my tears away. I laugh.

"Yeah I was." I'm strangely proud of him. I've lived in this family long enough to know Michael did what he was supposed to do, no changes or modifications—he stuck to Winchester protocol. I can tell I'm not the only one feeling that things are set to rights again—Michael's feeling balanced and I'm glad for it.

"I'll put some aloe on this when we go inside, Duck," he says helping me get my clothes back over my hot tushy. "I was hoping you'd want to lie here for a bit and watch the stars come out. Papa Winchester said it would be all right; he understands the importance of post-spanking comfort."

I smile because I know. "Of course Michael."

We lay there awhile, the stars come out; I'm fucking surprised no one's texted us, or come to fetch us personally and of course, Michael and I are gonna milk it, stay out here long as we want. We should be trying to collect brownie points, go in on our own, but we don't.

Instead, we're interrupted by a dark shape that lunges out of the darkness. "What the… Jake?"

I only just see the glint of silver in the moonlight.

_Sorry pal. I have to bench you._

Everything's a blur from there. I'm thrown. I see things happening, but can't control them and when I finally can again, I pass out and wake up next to the Impala.

**

When the kids leave, everyone disperses, I ask Cas if I can talk with him a moment, so we head to a quiet corner and I ask him about what he and Sam did before their wedding. I was too young then to remember. "Stags?" Cas says laughing. "That's a ridiculous and unnecessary tradition."

I know right away, I picked the wrong person to talk to. This is very much a Winchester thing. I thank Cas. "Was that helpful?" he asks.

I wince. "In a way."

"Good. Would you do me a favor?"

"Sure, Cas."

"In forty-five minutes, tell Dean and Michael to come in. I have to make a phone call that might go awhile."

I nod and move onto Sam who's with Mama. "Sammy, can I borrow you a minute?"

Sam and I head into the front room. "What's up Dally?"

"Stags." I only need to say the one word.

He laughs his head off at me. "You're trying to convince Chris _Winchester_ to let you have one? Good luck. Once a Winchester puts his mind to something…"

"Yeah, I see that. But I thought I was the Top and I made the rules." I know that's not how it works, I'm just frustrated.

"Oh, you do. You know we make rules too."

I do know that and I've lived with them long enough to know how it all works, but I think I just need to hear it right now. I sink down on the sofa. "You mind telling me a story of an example? My mind needs to hear it. I got," I look at my phone, "Forty-two minutes."

He smiles at me in the way he always does, like I'm three again and he's putting me to bed. I lay down and make myself comfortable. Winchesters can be exhausting. "Love to, sweetheart. As you know, Cas liked to have his Dean and Papa days, often in effort to give me, 'a day off'," he says with air quotes.

"Oh yeah, I remember those."

"Then you also remember we have a rule I'm sure you've heard me remind Cas of and attach the odd threat to it."

"Yeah, he calls or texts you every two hours."  
"Yep. That came about before you moved in with us. The first ever Papa and Dean day was a bit of a disaster. They destroyed the house, Dean lost his Mr. Blankenstien, I came home to a screaming Dean and I didn't hear from them all day."

I think I remember bits of that story.

"That's when _I_ made the rule that he contacts me, or else. Much as I loved Dean and Cas having a day together, it drove me crazy."

"I do remember calming you down some of those days myself."

"Yeah, I was always a nervous wreck. But I wanted them to have their day; in order for that to happen, I needed updates."

I laugh. All those days were so good, I wish I had a time machine to travel back to them for a week at a time. Sure not everyday was roses, but they were still my favorite days. I love talking about old stories. There's something nice in hearing them even when you know them. "I know I'm not the only one who makes rules, for the record, but this one's frustrating. I want to go, Sammy; I feel a bit caged—I'm a social guy. What do I tell my friends?"

"Can't he go with you?"

"Tried that."

"Stubborn."

"Yeah, I know. Did you and Cas really do nothing? You guys were twenty-one."

Sam shakes his head. "You kidding me? Cas thinks they're unnecessary nonsense. Didn't bother me though, it wasn't important to me."

"I don't understand what the big deal is, just a few guys having a few beers, what could happen?"

"What could happen? To a Winchester, any myriad of horrible things. Stags are notorious for stupidity."

Chris said as much in our prior conversations. "So he comes with me, keeps me safe. He's the one who won't come."

Sam looks at me like I'm stupid. Oh. _Oh._ "He's declining my offer because he doesn't want to end up punching one of my friends, which he's afraid he will when they attempt to badger me into said stupidity."

"There you go. My advice, skip it. Give your friends any excuse then hang out with them another time when they've forgotten all about stags."

"Yeah, okay." Sammy's totally right.

"You own your very own Winchester now little brother. You're gonna have your hands full." He's making fun.

"Have for years. Only thing is, finding balance between this and him walking all over me. Which he will. Chris is smart. Sometimes he does it without even meaning to."

"This isn't you letting him walk all over you. Not for this. This is one of those Winchester things you've got to manage. That balance thing comes with time. Even Cas and I still aren't perfect at it. No relationship is, Winchester Way or not. Any of that helpful?" he asks reaching out to squeeze my barefoot.

"Yeah. It's helpful." I realize it must be time to grab Dean though. "Thanks Sammy. Cas wants me to tell Dean to come inside."

Sam laughs. "Okay, I'll leave you to it."

I head outside and am joined by Chris when he sees me walking across the kitchen. "Wait, Dals. I'll come with you."

"Love that, darlin'." I take his hand. I can't wait 'till I can call him husband and you know? Stag not a big deal. Sam's right, I can get together with my friends after and skip stag mayhem.

We head into the darkness, which is lit by some of Mama and Daddy's outside lights and the moon. Dean and Michael aren't here, they must be on the property somewhere. "Should we use technology, or go on a hunt?" I ask Chris.

"Let's walk, I wanna talk about somethin' anyway."

We start walking. "What's up sweetheart?"

"I got a phone call from Taz, you're right, they are gonna have somethin' for me. I think we should try it."

 _Taz._ I don't fudging like that guy. "I thought Hammish was your best friend?" He's responsible. Okay, I get it. I get it. Chris is a grown boy, I'm a grown boy, stupidity can still happen… and Stags are unnecessary nonsense.

"He'll be there, but Taz is putting it together—he's the party guy. So there you go, you get your wish, there will probably be a stripper."

"C'mere darlin'." I stop and pull him to me. I can tell he's not into it at all. "What's all this change of mind? Winchester's don't change their minds." Not easily anyway.

The way he shakes slightly I can tell he's on the verge of crying. "I, heard you talking to Sam. I could hear in your voice how much you wanna go. I hate that… well I can be better for you. Go. I'll be fine. It's gonna be on the same night. I'll barely be thinking of everything that can happen to you. But no naked men Dallas Colt."

"I ain't goin'. Was gonna tell you. I get it. It's going to take some practice 'cause I'm so—"

"Larger than life?" he says peeking an eye up to me.

"Well I wasn't going to say that, but that's nice you think so. I've just never had anyone so worried over my imminent death before, aside from Sammy and your brother—but I look at them as elders—even my parents let me take more risks. Like I said, it's going to take some getting used to."

"I don't want you to miss out on account of me, especially hearing your voice like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that, longing, like you're missing out."

"Sweetheart, I'm not missing out. I'll just miss you all night anyway."

"You'll miss your friends though."

I'm not going to lie to him. "I'll miss my friends a little, but I'd miss you worse. I'd rather miss them."

That wins me a smile, but he's not making it easy. "I just don't want your life to be any worse for me in it."

"Never Chris. Ever. I thought this was similar to other things we've been through. Sammy was helpful. This is about being Winchester—"

"—Exactly, I can't change it Dals. You know I've tried."

"I don't want you tryin' to change yourself, remember? That's spankable Chris."

He nods into me.

This is always our hard one. It's hard to figure out when he needs a spanking for hating himself, when I have to push him through a given situation and when it's just him being Winchester and needs me to concede. We've both come a long way, but Sam's right, we'll always be figuring us out. "It a dumb party that's unnecessary nonsense and… I don't want you going to yours either."

"Y-You don't?" He seems happy about that.

"Taz?"

"I knew you never liked him. Dallas Colt, are you jealous?"

Maybe. "A little. But I know what kind of trouble you get up to with him. I seem to remember picking you up on the side of a dark highway barking at the moon."

"Oh yeah, that was a good night."

"It was not."

"How was I supposed to know you were comin' to town?"

"That's why they call it a surprise."

We're broken out of our serious fight turned cutesy-bickering about to turn to quick sex in the dark against a tree. "Michael! Don't! Stop!"

"Dean," Chris and I say at the same time. We run toward the shouting, which leads us to the barn. We bust in, our guns would be blazing if we had'em, but we don't—maybe we should. Michael's like I've never seen him, the air crackling around him, eyes filled with blue grace and focused on some kid, no not a kid, but he's young. Dean's scrabbling to get up, like maybe he was thrown.

"Michael," I try. "What's going on?"

That breaks his focus, enough he looks up at me and the kid, I mean guy, and the guy makes his move. That's when I see the glint. "Michael!" I shout, but he's not going to see in time.

I don't know how, but Dean's faster, but he is. He slides in and kicks the guy in the back of the knee, he falls and the shiny knife goes flying forward. Michael, who's aware now, picks it up, but that's not a good thing, I think it's going to end up in the kid if someone doesn’t do something. Dean grabs the kid (who's on his knees now) around the neck and's reaching into his pants for something, a gun. He takes it, pushes the kid, guy, forward so he falls on his palms and drops the mag out of the gun. There's something off about the way Dean does that. Dean's well versed in gun of course (how can he not be, being a Colt and a Winchester) but he's so relaxed and sure, more so than I've ever seen him.

Michael's still hell bent on murder. He's going to literally kick the kid while he's down. I don't know what the fudge is going on, but no one's dying tonight. I do the only thing there's time to do. I jump on the kid, dammit, guy, who's just getting his bearings, wrap my whole body around him and hope to God that knife thing doesn't hurt me too much. "Dallas!" That's Chris at the same time Dean shouts, "Michael." I wait for an impact that never comes.

When I think it's safe to look up, I do. Michael and Christian are furious with me. Dean's eyes are burning too, but in a way I've never seen them, he looks like a different person. Chris storms over like he's coming to collect a bike of his someone stole. He tugs on my arm and pulls me to him. "Jesus Christ Dals, you can't do that, shit."

Dean's eyes are trained on the kid again. Cold. Michael's sneering. "I told Dean you're not to come within three feet of him."

"Well I didn't get the fucking memo angel dickbag."

That's as far as we get. Jared and Jensen come busting in, they do have guns blazing. "Sorry we're late," Jensen says, his gun pointed on the kid, still on his knees. "Hands on your head, Travis."

"Give me the knife Michael," Jared says.

"Like hell I will. This is mine now."

"Michael, do it," I say. Not that Michael needs a weapon to kill the kid, but I'd feel better, all the same, if it was somewhere else.

"But—"

"Now, Sur."

He scowls, but hands it over. I check on the kid I just saved. I know someone who's trying to act tough when I see it and that's him. He's a good looking kid, but on the thin side—still got plenty of muscles, they're long and lean. "Can you guys take your guns off of him?"

"No can do brother," Jared says.

"In juuussst a second," Jensen drawls as he switches his gun for handcuffs and latches them onto the kid.

I bite my lip. "Can you take it easy on him, Jen?" Them handling him like that is really irking me for some reason.

"This here is a wanted felon," Jensen says. "Believe me, this is easy."

"So are you." That's Chris. "C'mon, he's just a kid, he's shaking. Let up." I smile down at Chris.

"I am not scared, what the actual fuck?" The kid eggs Jensen on by struggling to which Jensen responds of course, yanking his arm back harder than is necessary. I hear the sound of Jared pulling the safety on his gun.

"Jared, put the gun away now." I use my best Cas voice. "You don't need it on him anymore."

"I don't need you sticking up for me, dude," the kid says. I turn my Cas eyes on him and he looks to the ground.

"You behave yourself, you've caused enough trouble," I tell him as I change Chris's position to hold his hand and we can both watch over the kid even as he's giving us both the stink-eye. The kid is unreal looking, with the dark, edgy fringe of hair and the sharp cheekbones. He's tall too.

Jensen nods at Jared and Jared clicks the safety back on and puts his gun in his pants, as Jensen starts patting the kid down for other weapons and removes another knife off him, this one looks a lot different from the smooth blade Jared has now. "Dean, Michael, inside please," I tell them. Dean still hasn't said anything. Michael's too wrapped up in the proceedings to do as he's told, or to check Dean over for bruises, which he probably has. He crosses his arms at me, but he's saved by Sam and Cas running in.

"What's going… Jared? Jensen?" Cas says. "Who's that?"

"Jake," Sam and Michael say at the same time.

Cas looks him over, it's like he's in a trance. 'Jake' can't look him in the eyes, not directly. He's trying to look at him without looking at him. "Ah, so you're the young man who's been causing all the ruckus with my family today."

"I'd salute you, but," he turns so Cas can see the cuffs.

"Is all this necessary?" Cas asks, which shocks me—shouldn't he be glad the kid is in cuffs? Well I'll tell you, I'm not.

"Yep. We've been looking for him. He keeps running from us."

"I told you two, I don't need minders."

"Well we knew your dad and he says you do," Jensen says.

"What a minute, _knew?_ " Sammy says. "That's past tense. I thought you said he was coming back?"

"I lied. Sue me."

Sam's not impressed. "You two knew his daddy?"

"Yeah. Sort of. As much as any hunter knows another hunter. Jake Travis Senior. He helped us quite a bit. We've known Junior here awhile and we owe his daddy. Meanwhile, Jake's got some big ideas for revenge on what killed him."

"What did kill him?" I ask even if it's none of my business. Can't help it.

"None of your damn business," he, _Jake_ says, predictably.

"Okay, enough outta you," Jensen says. "Can we show Dean something really quick, Cas? We brought him a surprise, we've been excited all the way here. Please? We've driven a long time." Jensen still manages to have some of that young boy glimmer, even at his age—he's older than I am.

Cas is in even less of a generous mood than he was earlier and that's saying something. I'm sure he wants to get everyone inside, cozy and safe. He looks at everyone in turn. "Fine. Quickly. I wouldn't mind seeing what you're doing with him. Lead the way."

All of us follow Jared, Jensen and Jake to the front of the house. Dean's been quiet and stoic. He's a collected calm and he fits in well with the other hunters of the pack, who he joins without thinking. That's unusual. Usual, would be him gripping Michael in some way. As is, Michael has to catch up with him and take his hand. Dean lets him not saying anything.

When we get to the front, there are two cars there that weren't before. Jared and Jensen's black seventy-eight Firebird and…

For the first time in about fifteen minutes, Dean speaks. " _Baby._ " He lets go of Michael's hand, which Michael doesn't expect, because he's gone before Michael can tug him back and he's over to his car. He smoothes his hand over her like he hasn't seen her in a long time—a lot longer than the six days we've been here.

"Yep that's right. We stole her from your house and drove her here for you—you can go on a road trip back with your parents instead of flying—we heard what happened."

"You did?"

"Yeah, kid, we always call to check in on you. You know that."

"Uh, yeah. Right. I know that. Just forgot."

"Didn't anyone want to ask me if this was okay?" Cas asks.

"Not really Cas, you can kill us later. It was such a kick-ass idea, we had to do it and it worked out."

"Let's take her for a spin," Dean says.

"Here, catch." Jensen tosses the keys toward Dean, still directing cuffed Jake.

Cas intercepts them. "I don't think so. These are mine for now. No one's going for any rides. In fact, we're all going inside. This is turning into the day that never ends. It's over now."

Suddenly, Dean gets wobbly and collapses. Michael's there and just catches him in time. Cas and Sam run over. Chris and I get closer by stay back so as not to get in the way. Dean comes to quickly. "Papa?" Dean says, confused.

"I'm here Angel." Cas looks to Michael to carry him—it's easier. "Take him inside, I'll be right in." They head into the house. Sam and Cas stay behind with us.

"Wow, our gift made him faint, Sammy," Jensen says.

Sam doesn't answer. "Where are you guys taking him?" He's referring to Jake now.

"Away."

"Y'all aren't staying?"

"We were going to, but this came up. We got a lead on him—you're sloppy kid," Jared tells him. "And we followed it straight here. Worked out nicely for us, since we were on our way with the car anyway."

"Yeah, but the wedding."

"Well unless he's invited—"

"He's invited," I say.

"Dallas." That's Cas. "He's a hunter." Okay, that's the Cas I know. He may not like the sight of the kid in cuffs any more than I do, but he's still cautious. I should be too. What am I thinking?

"So are Jen and Jared. What's one more?" I say before I can stop myself.

"I don't want him around Dean." Cas has his firm voice and I respect him and he's making a lot of sense, so why am I annoyed?

With Cas's nod, Jensen puts him in the Firebird like he's a criminal being arrested. That just doesn't sit right with me. "Where you taking him Jen?" I ask this time as he shuts Jake in.

He gives up trying to be evasive. "We haven't planned that far. We just have to somehow convince him not to do what he was planning, let his dad's death go, then we let him go. We won't be able to keep him forever."

I nod, biting my lip. I don't like what's going on.

"We'll be at this motel for now," Jared says handing me a card. "We leave in two days."

"Mama's not going to like to hear they're staying in a motel," Sam comments.

That's for Castiel's benefit. "I don't want them staying in a motel either, Baby, but… Dean." Cas is truly torn.

Since no one's coming up with anything, Jensen shrugs and like one unit, Jen and Jare head into the car. "Wait," Chris shouts as they open the doors. "I have an idea."


	35. Old Dean My Dean Our Dean Your Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I _think_ this is right. There was a lot I had to not forget, so I hope I didn't. 
> 
> I may not be able to release the 3rd chapter I have right away. But I do have one, it will be a day or two behind. I need to do something that's not sitting at my desk ;)

I carry Dean bridal style up the stairs and past his grandparents who look, but sense it's not a good time to ask questions. Once I make it to his room, I place him gently on the bed with plans to undress him. "Michael?" he says rubbing his head and sitting up.

"Lay back down," I tell him.

"I'm fine. I'm—"

I don't say a word, just give him a look that means it's not the time to argue with me. He lays back down. I move over to his suitcase and can't seem to find his pajamas, I mess up his suitcase looking for them; when I finally have them in hand, he's smiling at me. "What?"

"You're amazing when you worry about me, like you are now. I'm okay Michael. Promise."

What the? He's not supposed to say things like that; he's supposed to complain about going to bed early. I stare at him trying to read his mind. Is he up to something? "You may sit up now, arms over your head."

He follows my instructions to the letter, I remove his shirt and replace it with a tank top for sleeping, but as I do, I check him over for bruises. None. Thank fuck. But I threw him. I fucking threw him and I still need to check his lower half, but before I do, "What the fuck Dean?" He knows what I mean. It was like he couldn't hear a word I said as he ran after Jake. I have a theory, one that's been percolating in my mind since his 'kick-ass ninja skills' with his school mate that bruised up his face. I've seen many bits of Old Dean show up over the years, in many different ways. Whether or not he knows it is another story.

He takes a shuddery breath. "Look, I was getting to telling you, but the time just never seemed to be right and so many things took priority—"

"Out with it Dean."

"Old Dean is, he's around, he...when we met up with Jake and… It wasn't me you were dealing with, not exactly, it was him."

I sift through his gibberish: I'm right. I don't even know what to do with that, so instead I start undoing his jeans.

"Michael, wait," he says before I get too far. "I know why you pushed me out of the way."

"I threw you."

"Don't flatter yourself. It was a really hard shove at best."

" _Dean._ "

"Look, I already know something's gonna be there."

Fuck. Yes of course I'm worried about Papa Winchester killing me, but how am I going to live with myself when I see what I've done? I would murder anyone who bruised Dean terribly, accident or otherwise.

"If anyone's to blame, it's Jake."

Yes. I like that.

"You saved me, okay? Old Dean was being reckless. He's rusty whether he wants to believe it or not. Look, maybe it's best you don't see it."

I don't like him talking about Old Dean as if they're old pals—like Old Dean's a buddy they came around for visit. Reminds me too much of his 'pal Tigger.' I should be asking him all kinds of questions, because by the sounds of it, Old Dean used his body like a puppet and _my_ Dean was there, but I'm still too freaked by whatever I did to him. "That's never going to happen, Dean. Stand up."

He huffs, but stands, gingerly. I undo his pants and drag them down his hips slowly. I start breathing like an over-anxious human when I begin to see the discolored skin. Of course there's the red from his spankings, but overlaying those, starting from the top of his hip to the meaty lateral part of his thigh is a giant bruise; purple and ugly. I know that bruises are blood vessels broken under the skin, how many of his blood vessels have I broken? I have to close my eyes, give myself a second then open them again. I should look, but I can't. I finish removing his jeans and like a coward, have him step into his pajama pants so I can't see it anymore. I end up pulling him into my arms and squeezing.

My eyes are wet and blurry. What have I done?

"Michael, human. Crushing."

I release him—some, not all the way. "I'm going to kill that human."

"You know how Daddy feels about murder in Nan and Grandaddy's home."

"This isn't a time for jokes Dean. You could have been killed."

"I know Michael, but, just c-calm down okay."

"How the hell am I supposed to calm down?"

"Look Old Dean is in here."

I must be doing my angel of fury look, because Dean's scared. I hate the fear in his eyes, but there's nothing for it right now. This night has been a complete disaster. "You mentioned. Tell me Dean. Details. I need information."

"O-Okay, Michael. L-Look. I'll tell you everything I can, best as I can make sense of it." He takes a deep breath and I do the same, desperate enough to try Daddy Winchester's calming techniques. "It's getting worse than the other times; he stayed longer. It's like… well, I can't explain it."

"Explain anyway."

"It's like for a moment, he slips me on, like a costume and uses me to do stuff, then he takes me off when he's done and I dunno, sits back having a beer."

It's weird but stranger things have happened. "You tell Old Dean he doesn't have my permission to use your body like a fucking costume."

"He says, no can do."

"He talks to you?"

"Sorta. Yeah. I think he's mostly… yeah, he talks and… fuck I'm feeling crazy right now. Can we stop talking about this?"

"No."

Dean huffs. "Some of the things I say are him."

"Like with your car—you were acting like you hadn't seen it in ages because he hadn't."

"Yeah."

"You were there then."

Dean nods. "I saw everything. I had to, uh, kick him out."

"If you can kick him out, then get him out permanently."

"I'm trying. And he's not kicked out precisely, he's in my head. He only talks when he wants to, but I know he's there."

"It sounds like you can control him."

"Not really. I mean, I'm trying, but he's fucking pushy."

"Maybe you just need a good night's sleep."

"I don't think I can sleep him away."

"Can you remember anything? From before?"

Dean shakes his head. "No. It's like only he can. It feels like he's separate from me, though, I can feel a bit of what he feels. He's just something that popped out of a closet in my head."

"Well put him back in the closet."

"He'll just pop out again. He doesn't listen very well. You saw what happened. I passed out trying to get my body back."

I don't like how this sounds. "So you see everything going on when Old Dean takes over?"

"Well, things are kind of blurry, but yeah, more or less."

Oh god, oh god. I can't handle this. _I need Pine-Sol._ I kiss his forehead and pretend I'm calm. I don't fool him. "Time for bed."

"It's ten o'clock Michael."

I ignore him and begin pulling his covers back. He climbs in without anymore fuss. I have no idea what to do about any of this, but I know one thing, I want him tucked away where I don't have to worry about him for a few hours. "Please go to sleep for me, Duck. I have to figure this out. I can't do that until you're out of the way." I pull the covers over him, he's still sitting up, but he's looking me over, considering me.

"Okay, Michael. I'll try to sleep, but I worry about you too, ya know. I'm going to be up here thinking about you."

I run a hand through his hair, he lays down. "I'll come back when I can."

"What about Daddy and Papa? You think you're going to get past them on a night like tonight?"

"I'll get back to you Duck, I always will."

**

Cas is furious. He's not wearing his favorite trench coat, but I can still see it flare behind him as he storms up the stairs. I intend on following after him, but an equally furious Michael has just stormed down the stairs (Cas nearly bowling him over). Cas is older, with more experience and I know just what he'll do, so I decide to follow after "furious angel" instead—not only does he have more potential to do damage to the house, but he'll need help calming down.

Mama and Daddy are in the kitchen pretending to not notice the chaos, Michael head straight over to Mama. "Ma'am, would you be so kind as to point me to the nearest bottle of Pine-Sol?"

"I'll get it for you myself corn bread. You need a bucket with water too?"

"That would be helpful, Nana Colt."

I grab him from behind by the shoulders. "Mama, if you wouldn't mind bringing all that out to the deck when you've got it together?" I make sure the light is turned on and lead Michael out to the deck. "Okay, shoes off, roll up your sleeves."

"What are do you think you're doing?"

"What's is look like? Helping you. If you think I'm letting you sulk out here, think again, Sur."

It's clear he's frustrated, but he begins removing his shoes and rolling up his sleeves as I asked; I do the same and Mama brings us out the bucket giving us both the once over look, before she smiles and heads back inside. "Make sure you get under the deck chairs." She's knows I've got this. I hand Michael a sponge, we can both smell the chemically manufactured scent of 'pine,' and begin scrubbing.

We do a thorough once over, before I say anything. "Talk to me Michael."

"I hurt Dean. I threw him, he's got a giant bruise on his thigh."

"I haven't heard the whole story yet, but I imagine it was saving his life, or thinking you were, so I'm not buying it. No you may not heal him, unless, is it life threatening?" I know that's coming next.

He wants to say yes, but he won't lie. "No sir," he says quietly.

"I for one am grateful, you're going to have to come to terms with that. Cas will be too, so you can rest easy. Got it?" We start on a second round.

"Yes, sir. What's happening with that miscreant?"

"If you mean Jake, he's staying with Chris and Dally at Chris's apartment for a couple days. Then Jared and Jensen are taking him away." They still won't say where, but I guess even though I feel like it's my business, it's not my business.

"Can't be soon enough for me. All five of them are staying at Casa de Chris? Isn't it a two bedroom?"

"The twins are gonna switch off. Jared's dropping Jensen off and coming back here."

"And maybe I should stop by…" I don't think he means to say that out loud.

"No one's stopping by anywhere. Besides, you and Dean are on restriction, remember?"

"Surely I could—"

"No. He's there for the two days then he'll be gone and we're putting this whole mess behind us, got it?"

"Fine." He grits his teeth and makes it look like he's trying to scrape the stain plain off the deck with the way he's using that sponge.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir, but how come I never get anything I want?" He's breathing hard. He really means that and he's not just being obstinate, but there's a little obstinacy. I imagine what it must be like for him, he must feel like a slave to everyone else, even Dean most of the time. All he wants is for Dean, the person he loves most to be safe. He knows that impossible, unless he locks Dean in a bubble room, so he concedes and concedes and concedes, until all the things he concedes on pile up and he can't take it anymore. Or something this big happens and he feels overwhelmed. I get it, because I have a Cas.

And Dean doesn't make it any easier on the poor guy. At least Dean'll be around the house for the next little bit and I can have a chat with him about all that. I wipe my hand on my pants and run it through his hair. "Things are going to work out, sweetheart. Promise. Cas isn't going to let Dean anywhere near Jake." That makes him visibly relax.

"What about all this road trip nonsense?"

"We've got awhile before we have to worry about that. If need be, we can ship Baby back. Benefits of being stupid rich."

"Do I get a vote on that?"

"Even if you don't, sugar, I guarantee you, your thought process will be the exact same as Cas's."

He knows it's true. "Feel better?" I ask.

"A little."

"How many more rounds will it take?"

"I want to make sure to get under the deck chairs good for Nana Colt, I still see a lot of dirt under there. Probably two, maybe three more."

"Two," I say, but I smile real big at him. He's more thoughtful than he knows.

"And what about…" he can't say it, but I know what he's thinking; he's thinking about old Dean inhabiting our Dean. He stares off into the nothing. It's his biggest worry above all the other things.

"I don't know, Michael." I've got nothing for him.

It's late by the time I send Michael off to bed. I head to my and Cas's room to find it as I expect: Destroyed. Not anything that can't be fixed, just pillows, bed sheets, our suitcases. He had to get it all out in a physical way—it's an excellent form of release. I know where he'll have gone from here. I change into my pajamas and head to Dean's room.

Fast asleep, curled around our boy is Cas, both needing the other's comfort just as much. I watch them, snap a quick picture with my phone (Cas really does mean take my phone everywhere) and slip inside. I'm only half surprised when Michael creeps in behind me. "Please Mr. Winchester," he whispers.

I'm too tired to argue with him and don't have the heart to say no anyway. I hand him a spare pillow from the bed and he takes up the spot at the end of the bed on the floor. I crawl in behind Cas and we all crash.

**

I've learned a thing or two about my husband-to-be over the years, when he gets a certain look in his eyes, his Colt heartstrings have been pulled. I don't know what's going on yet, but I'll do anything for him—except let him have strippers at his stag and anything I deem life endangering.

That's what this kid's done and I can see why. Beneath all his sweltering good looks, is a kid who's sad and angry. He needs someone. I've always been a fan of the older Colt twins, but they're not what he needs.

"Can we take the cuffs off him, Jen?" Dals asks. Jared's already gone back to the Colt's.

"Nuh-uh, no way."

"You gunna hold my dick while I pee?" the kid, Jake, says.

Dallas gives them both a disapproving look. "I'm gonna get Jake some clean clothes, a pillow and a blanket and you're gonna remove those cuffs by the time I come back."

"He's going to run Dally. You don't know this kid."

"He's not gonna run, because if he runs and any of us catch him, I'm going to give him the spanking of his life, on his bare-bottom and I'm not going to care who's around to see."

The kid turns a deep shade of crimson, Jensen is entertained and Dallas looks fucking hot being the big bad alpha. "Are we clear, Sur?"

"Yeah, yeah. I ain't gonna run."

"Thank you. Jen, the cuffs." He storms off expecting his bidding to be done.

Jensen removes the cuffs, still unsure and the kid rubs his wrists, glaring, slouched in the chair. I want to ask a million questions. Jensen's right about that much—we don't know this kid from a hole in the head, I do want to know something of the _hunter_ bunking at my house, but I doubt any of them will be answered anyway. So I decide on crossing my arms in a Winchester-y fashion.

Dals comes back with the clothes. "Would you like to have a shower, Jake?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"There a window in there?" Jensen asks.

"Not in the main bathroom, but we're up too many floors anyway, Jen," Dal explains.

"Well then I'll just walk him there, make sure he doesn't take a detour. Also, you better put him in the spare bedroom, I'm fine on the couch—I'd rather watch the door in case he decides to flee."

"You sure?" Dals asks.

"I'm sure," Jensen says, then frog-marches Jake to the shower.

We both look at each other when they're gone, Dallas moves over to me and pulls me to him. "Thank you."

"What you thanking me for, Baby?"

"I don't know yet," Dals says. "No fudgin' clue."

**

I'm sure he's not at all, but nothing changes how vulnerable Jake looks in my pajamas, to me anyway. "I'll put him to bed," I offer without thinking about it. Jensen doesn't look to like the idea, but he's tired of fighting with me, so he flops down on the couch.

"I don't need to be put to bed. I'm a grown man. Y'all have some kinda infantilism kink or somethin'?"

I grab him by the back of the neck and usher him to the bedroom. "March."

"Hey, not trying to kink shame you, just askin'."

"You're bein' smart."

"Not at all, but if you like I can call you Daddy."

I scowl at him and without thinking too hard about it, give his ass two good swats.

"Ow!"

"I'm not toleratin' your nonsense Jake. Let that be an end to it." Lordy Bee, I sound like my father.

I open the covers for him and he's sheepish, hiding his bottom from me, as he climbs in, his sass seeming to have fled the building. "You know where the washroom is, if you need anything else, Chris and I are one door down."

"I think I'll be just fine," he says, pillowing his hands behind his head, laying down. I give him a look that says to watch his tone with me, then kill the lights and shut the door.

Chris has Jen settled with some whiskey when I return. "You want a shower Jen?"

"Yeah, after this," he says swirling his drink.

"I'll have some of that Chris, if it's still on offer."

"Course, Dals," he laughs. "That kid already drivin' you to drink?"

"He is difficult, but he doesn't fool me—he's heartbroken over his daddy. Thinks revenge will solve the problem." Chris hands me a glass and I take a sip, it burns all the way down—Chris only has the fanciest of whiskeys of course.

"He's a cold blooded killer little brother, not a broken little boy, but you're right; he is hell bent on revenge, which is why we're looking out for him. He's in over his head."

I don't know much about hunting, but none of this sits right with me. We drink and chat with Jensen, 'till he decides to have a shower and Chris and I pull out the sofa bed for him. "What'cha thinkin' Baby?"

"Not thinking so much as feeling. Something's wrong."

"You're telling me, but your brothers have it handled."

"Yeah. Guess so." I pull Chris into my arms for a kiss, that always makes me feel better.

"We still gonna be able to have our make-up sex with the kid next door?"

I lock both his arms behind his back. "When's an audience ever stopped me? If you don't want him to hear, you'll just have to keep real quiet darlin'."

**

"Told you the kid would try to run." That's Jen and it's morning. He's sitting with his chair leaned up against the wall, twirling a knife on his pointer finger. Meanwhile, I've got Jake, arms cuffed behind his back, marching him through the kitchen. He's pissed (rightfully so).

"Key, Jensen."

He tosses it to me and I unlock him. "I told you to come get us if you needed us. Sit there please."

He takes a seat rubbing out his sore wrists. "Nuh-uh. There was no way in hell I was coming near your room after what I heard going on."

Jensen laughs. I roll my eyes. "We weren’t busy all night, but if you think being handcuffed all night is better that's fine with me." It's so not.

"It's so not."

Did I say that out loud? No. That was Jake.

"Is so."

"Yeah? Then why were you so interested in gettin' them off me?"

He's such a cocky little so and so. Can't anyone care about him? So what if I do. Can't help it. I'm saved answering that when Chris strolls in, looking all sexy in baggy jeans and a white t-shirt… and my Chesney hat. "Mornin' gorgeous," I say, all my attention pulled to my husband-to-be. He tilts his hat back so I can plant a kiss on his lips.

"They always like this?" Jake asks Jensen.

Jensen shrugs. "They're either kissing or fighting."

"Well today, it's kissing, cowboy," Chris says to Jake.

"If y'all are gonna make out, I'm going back to bed," Jake says thinking he's getting up.

I move to stop him and am surprised when Chris beats me to it. "Sit back down. Dallas wants to make you breakfast and you're gonna eat it."

"This is fucked up," he says slamming back down in the chair. Chris and Jensen's heads swivel toward me wondering if I'm going to tell him off for that, which is weird, why would I? He's an adult… though I would probably say something to Michael. But Michael, I feel like I had a hand raising him and am still some kind of a mentor to him, so that's different. Like they're picking up on though, I definitely have the urge to tell Jake. I did swat him last night, but maybe that was out of line? I don't fudging know.

I settle on an in between. The kid'll be gone by tomorrow morning anyway. "I'd prefer it if you used a more respectful tone while you're here," I say, not looking at him, pulling out stuff for breakfast.

"What is _with_ this place? Is this your way of making it so I'll want to go with you two?" he says to Jensen. "I'm mean it's fu—" I turn my head and arch my brow at him, "— _messed_ up, but it still doesn't make me want to leave with you."

"Besides, you've got some explaining to do young man. What were you doing attacking my family?" I ask.

"That angel ain't yer family."

"That is debatable, Dal," Jensen says.

"Michael is one of my own," I tell them both in no uncertain terms. "Now answer the darn question."

"And what if I don't?"

"I'm just itching to spank you Jake Travis, try me."

He blushes and he talks. "I knew something was off about him, so I guessed he was either an angel or a demon."

"Well now we have both your knives, so you're hooped kid."

"That what those were?" I ask.

"Yeah. One demon and one angel blade, likely stolen from his daddy, ain't that right kid?"

"He gave them to me asshole!"

"Hey now," Chris says. "We're just talking."

"You went with angel blade in the end—what made you decide?"

"I heard them."

"Dean and Michael?" I ask.

"Yeah. He was… the thing you just threatened me with to Dean and uh, he said it. _I'm an angel._ "

The boy is six kinds of cute not being able to say 'spanking.' I have to bite my lip so I don't smile at him.

"That what got your daddy? An angel?" Chris asks.

"No."

"Then why go after Michael?"

"'Cause angels are dicks," Jake and Jen say at the same time.

"Lordy Bee, well no killin' of anyone who hasn't done anythin' to you."

Both Jen and Jake exchange a look, which is suspicious because it's a look saying they know something. "Did Michael do something to you guys?"

"No," Jake says. "I've never seen him before. I just don't let creatures go free."

"Not exactly," Jen says. "It's complicated."

"Hunter problems?" Chris says.

"Yeah," Jen says.

"Kay, well that's enough hunter problems for one morning. Jake, get yer butt over here. You can help me." I can see he's chewing on stuff. Nothing gets your mind off of stuff like being given tasks.

He gets up and he helps, but I don't fail to notice how protective he is over his backside.

**

By lunch, there's a switch off and I feel like my apartment has been some kinda weird prison like in old time-y western movies; Jared shows for a shift. I'm able to convince Dals that I can watch the kid (I thought Jared was here to watch the kid, don't know why we feel like we are, but it doesn't change we are) so he can head off to shower.

"So Mama's having a thing for Cas and Sam's birthday upcoming, she convinced us to stay for it, we're working on letting Cas let Jake attend."

"You're staying longer now?"

"Maybe."

"Wow, I'm throwing a real wrench into your guy's summer, how about you let me go?"

"Nope," Jared says.

"And what if Castiel don't allow it?" My brother's about as flexible as a two by four.

"We haven't got that far yet. Sammy's helping us."

"And what about Michael? What's he think 'a all this?"

Jared shrugs. "Don't think he fancies that idea, but no one seems to care what he thinks. Why is that anyway?"

I can't answer that; don't know either. I like Michael. He'd make a good Winchester. "You are a wrench kid, not gonna lie. Jeez. But you have no idea how lucky you are my man's taken a shining to you."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because anythin' Dallas touches turns to pure sunshine. Why, I bet he could even make lemonade out of you."

"Lemonade?"

"Yeah, don't you know the saying about making lemons into lemonade? You're a real lemon, Jake," I say laughing. I'm only teasing. This kid needs to lighten up.

"Yeah? Well, let's see your dad get blown apart by some demon dickhead and you'd be pretty pissed too."

So it was a demon—I've heard of those. And I think Dals its right about Jake; he's missing his daddy, he's just too 'tough-guy' to admit it.. "Well maybe you'll get to meet my father, but I doubt any demon _could_ blow him apart. He's tougher than anything you've ever seen."

"Doubt that."

Boy is he in for the shock of his life. Ain't nothing scarier than Clyde Winchester. "You're right though, if anything could kill my father like that, I'd want revenge too."

"Christian," Jared says. "We're supposed to be convincing him otherwise."

"I didn't say to do it, jus' said I would want to. It won't be worth it, kid. In the end, he'll still be dead." He gets a faraway look. Hell. He makes me want to hug him.

I settle for a shoulder squeeze. "Okay, tell us your plan. Let's talk it out."

"Seriously?"

"Yep, seriously. What's the big plan, stud?" I cross my arms and lean against the wall to peer at him. He's tall, too tall for that chair he's sitting in, but Dallas is right. His tough demeanor is bravado; he's scared.

"I got a lead on the demon that killed my dad. I tracked him here."

I look to Jared. "We haven't had a chance to follow his lead yet, don't know if that's true; we've been busy."

"Of course it's true. Why would I lie about that?"

"Same reason people lie about anything. Where's the demon, kid?"

"I don't know. Y'all came along. He could be in Timbuktu for all I know now."

"Okay, so you had little plannin' that went into this—you tracked him, so what? You had nothin' after that."

"No, I—"

"Admit it Jake, or this conversation is over," I tell him in no uncertain terms.

"Fine. Yeah. I didn't have much planned other than 'stick the pointy end of the demon blade into the demon.'"

"See? He's in over his head. That's a last resort with demons kid," Jared says.

"I'm not even a hunter and I think that's stupid. You're not doin' that. Get that idea out of your head forever."

He laughs. "What I wanna know is, why you and blondie think you can tell me what to do." It's not a question, exactly.

It's at that point, said blondie comes walking into the kitchen (where our day has been lived) drying his hair. "Hey blondie," I say for Jake's benefit and head straight over to kiss him to death.

"Oh for the love of, can you two quit it?"

I don't though. I ain't listening to surly Jake. I kiss Dals. "You feel like hunting a demon, Baby?"

"What? Are you out of your gosh darned mind Christian Winchester?"

Dallas looks at me like I'm insane and yeah, maybe I am, but the kid's looking at me a lot different than he was before. If I didn't know better, I'd say there was some awe in his expression. "Y'all can't hunt demons. You'll get killed," he says, but there isn't much gusto in his voice. He wants to.

"He's right," Jared says. "It's not a game, Chris."

"You tellin' me you and Jen can't handle one little demon? We'll pretty much just be wall paper, but we'll help. We're both good shots."

"Can't kill demons with guns, Chris," Jared says.

"Well then, give me that pointy knife he was talking about—I'll stick it right in his go to hell."

That's when we hear something we haven't yet. Jake laughing. But not in a mean way, in pure enjoyment. Dallas notices. "That's not much better than my plan."

"Yeah, but I ain't a hunter. What's your excuse knucklehead?" I pull him into a headlock and muss up his hair. Now I'm laughing at his scowl when I release him. Dallas is smiling at me like I'm his sunshine, but we all know he's mine.

"I dunno," Dallas says. "What do you think Jare?"

"This ain't the county fair, Dally," Jared says. "It's a _demon._ Jen's gonna freak."

"Nah. I'll convince him. Once a Winchester puts his mind to something, it's his," I remind Dals and he knows I'm meaning him, which leads us to staring sappily at each other.

"If you two start making out one more time," Jake warns.

"Speaking of Winchesters Chris, there are going to be a few that won't be too happy about us taking off on an unauthorized hunt when we have no experience," Dal reminds me.

"Jen and Jared have plenty of experience; like I said wallflowers." That would never be enough to convince Dallas in a million years, but I'm counting on something else too.

I had a feeling when I began this insanity. The kid knows he's in over his head, which makes him deny it all the more, but he's not going to ask for help, nor does he expect any. Jake is alone. He's got no one—he had his dad, but now he's gone. I'm willing to bet he didn't care much if he did die on this hunt. So even he can't help how much hope is in his fucking eyes and he uses them to plead at Dallas knowing he's the one who's got the decision making conch.

The bigger looming question, why do I want to do this for the kid so bad? Damned if I can answer that question though. I just do.

"Ask Cas to let us bring Michael and we'll be fine—from what I've seen over there it might release the alpha tensions," Jared says.

"Alpha tensions?" Dallas asks.

"Yeah. Things aren't going too well over there for a number of reasons. Us taking Michael away for a bit, might be a welcomed idea. Him and Cas aren't seeing eye to eye. No one's exploded yet, but it's interesting."

"You expect me to chum around with that angel dick? Not to mention, I think he wants to kill me. That's probably an all around bad idea."

"I'll be there. Michael will behave with me there," Dallas says.

"So is that a yes, Dals?"

"I didn't say yes, I was speaking hypothetically."

Dallas has moved over to the fridge, I'm closer to Jake; I nudge him and nock my head at Dals when he's not looking. Jake gives me a silent, _what do you expect me to say?_ and Jared conceals his laugh. "Jake really wants to," I say, since he's too chicken. "And with the threat out of the way, it'll save us having to worry." I make it sound like the 'us' is the collective 'us,' but I mean myself and Dallas.

"I'm not worried, Jake's not doing anythin' on his own. I told him how that would go."

"And I told you guys, I'm not a damn kid. I don't have to do anythin' you say."

Dallas turns icy Colt eyes on him.

"I mean, please help me. I'm scared and alone."

"You might want to try some sincerity, if you want me to believe you." Okay. Plan backfiring. Dals is getting annoyed. I want to smack the kid upside the head for ruining my perfect set up. Jake can tell Dallas is annoyed too and seems proud of it. He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. What's up with him?

"The real question is, when we gettin' outta this place, Jared? It's sap city. I'd rather be in some shady motel."

Little prick.

"Wouldn't be in such a hurry if I was you kid—Jensen's none too happen about your attempted escape."

Jake's watching Dals, who's gone back to pretending to keep himself busy in the kitchen. Now he's hurt and annoyed. Somehow, Jake can tell. "Well you were gonna say no anyway."

Dallas spins around. "Guess you'll never know what I was gonna say." He turns back. Point one for Dallas. The kid's curious now.

"What _were_ you gonna say?"

Some of Dallas's annoyance seeps away, the kid's got an effect on him. He won't answer though.

"Okay fine. I'm bein' an asshole, 'cause I didn't think you were gonna go for it. I'm actually really not looking forward to being in a motel with two hunters who are pissed at me and are likely to handcuff me to something that won't move."

"Kid's got us dead to rights," Jared says.

"Better," Dals says. "My answer is, I'm going to talk with Castiel myself and if he'll let Michael come and you make me a promise you'll get along with him, I'm in."

"The guy who hates me and doesn't want me around his kid?"

"He's reasonable, just protective."

"Forgive me if I have my doubts. He's kinda scary for the record and that's saying somethin' comin' from me."

I laugh. "Believe me little britches, you're not the only one who thinks so."

"God, you guys and the nicknames. What's with that?"

"Just be lucky you don't have to put up with it forever," Dallas says, his Colt-blue eyes wince. My baby don't like that thought. "So, should we go kill ourselves a demon?"

**

Dallas is getting ready to leave to talk with Cas, something best done in person for what he's asking. I leave the kid with Jared (Dals put him on clean up duty) to say a private goodbye. "I gotta say, thought it would take a little more convincin', you caved easy," I say wrapping him from behind.

He flips around and I can see all the worry there. "I spoke with Sammy Chris. Things really aren't good—Dean's…Dean's possessed with his older counterpart. It means somethin', I just don't know what."

Dals gives me the best explanation of Old Dean, Our Dean, My Dean, Your Dean that he can. Makes it sound like that Dr. Suess book I used to read to Dean when he was little.

"That's the number one reason Cas and Michael are freaking. I think us going on a hunt is a good thing—I think we should all be preparing ourselves and that's what I'm going to tell Cas."

I nod, not liking the feeling that's building, like we're about to be lost in a swarm of asshole hornets. "Will you make sure Jake minds his manners? I don't want to be worrying about Jared pullin' a gun on him the whole time I'm gone."

"'Course darlin', anythin' for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI. The demon hunt is an event I'm going to skip. But don't worry, there will be enough highlights that you'll get all the important information we need for this story ;)


	36. Taming the Savage Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone can suspend some belief on a couple things in here having to do with injuries and hospitals. I figure if the T.V. can do it, so can I and I'd rather just do what works for the story ;) 
> 
> Make sure to thank Impsy, KreweOfImp. She made a request after last chapter to "see" a certain spanking. So I made it happen, but it's really all thanks to her--I foolishly thought I could skip over it! I was corrected. 
> 
> I think most over here are reading her, but jic... if you are loving the DD stuff, she's got some in the really great fic [Down to Size](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6921097/chapters/15789604) and other stuff too! 
> 
> I'm a loving everyone's speculations. Now I'm nervous though. I hope what actually happens is as good as everyone's imaginations. There is still lots more though after this chapter ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Cas, didn't look good when I saw him, it made me feel guilty for asking, but now I'm in this situation to the point where I _can't_ let the kid down. A lot of my speech to Cas sounded like that and he did something strange. He got quiet. He didn't talk for five minutes and then he said, "I understand Dallas. What if the boy won't let you keep him?"

I didn't have an answer for him. He nodded. "All right then. Be safe and please, for the love of God, yes, take the angel with you."

I left feeling like a thief, a feeling that was dimmed pretty quick by Michael who was not happy to be parted from Dean, even if there was no way he was letting us hunt demons without him. "Have I not been there for Dean at every turn? Have I not proven myself? Why? Why does he disregard me?" Michael must have been pretty upset to actually share feelings with me. Ones I didn’t even have to pull out of him.

"Focus on the hunting for now sugar donut. He'll come around." The whole car ride back to Chris's apartment was me consoling Michael until he resumed his usual crossed arms and smirk-y demeanor.

Before we head in, I give him a lecture on not trying to kill Jake. He acts insulted at the suggestion even though, I'm sure he had every intention.

I'm excited to tell Jake we got the okay. I have it all planned how I'll tell him. I think about making Michael wait outside the door and pretend like Cas said no, then have him jump out and… before I can even solidify my plan, the door opens and Jake smacks right into me, I grab him and immobilize his arms while he struggles.

I hear Michael turn on like a power-grid and can see the blue light begin to envelope him in my periphery, his limited grace at the ready if he needs to use it. He's really squirming, but with the way I've got him gripped, the gun in his hand does him little good. Michael disarms him, I flip him around and it's a repeat performance of me frog marching him back inside. Jared's knocked out cold and Chris is just walking out from the washroom looking bewildered. "You. Sit," I say directing him to the couch. He does, slinks down and crosses his arms. Michael stays close by. I check Jared.

"He's breathing and has a pulse. Michael, do you mind picking him up?" But he doesn't need to, soon as I say the words, Jared's coming to.

"What haaa…? Jake!"

"We got Jake. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says glaring over at Jake. "You're a charming son of a bitch, I'll give you that." He slowly makes his way to his feet, pulling out the handcuffs.

I shake my head. "You won't be needing those, Jare. Now, if y'all will excuse us, Jake and I have something to take care of."

Everyone knows what that means, except Jake, but he's a smart boy and he starts to figure it out as the other three head to the kitchen, disappointed they don't get to watch. "H-Hey now, what are you doin'?" Jake says as I approach him.

"Followin' through. You want to test me Jake? That's fine. I've dealt with plenty of brats in my time. You're no different."

"Whoa, easy cowboy. Look I made 'a honest escape attempt, can you blame me? That's done now. Y'all win. I'm not gonna to try it again."

"That's right you're not. This time it's just a spanking, next time, I have a paddle with your name on it."

His face flushes the color his behind is about to be. "Now wait just a gosh darned minute—"

I don't fail to notice his language just got a whole lot cleaner. "I warned you plenty. I'm done now." I reach out to grab his arm and he stands easily. He's a hunter's kid, so I have no fears over giving him a little, well-deserved spanking. I'm sure his father's punishment methods were far harsher. In fact, I'm willing to bet all my guitars he's missed the discipline aspect if not the method.

I sit on the couch where he was, still giving him plenty of opportunity to punch me in the face and run, but he doesn't and I know I've established some level of respect with the kid, however small. I reach out to unbutton his jeans. "Wait! I'm sorry, okay? I thought, well I didn't think that Cas fella was gonna go for it."

"Didn't I say I was gonna talk with him?" I ask calmly as I continue undoing his pants.

"You did and believe me, I have a whole other level of respect for you knowing you got through him, but c'mon do we have to do this?"

I pull his jeans and boxers down, all the way down, together in one swift tug. "We do. We're about to do something together that's dangerous and I can't be worried about you running off." I pull him over my lap, gently.

"I ain't gonna run off."

"Well not now you're not. You're going to obey me Jake Travis." That's all the speech I give and I start in, slow, rhythmic spanks to his bare backside, alternating over and over. I can tell what he's thinking, the slapping sound is embarrassing enough, the rest might be in the kitchen, unable to see, but they can hear just fine; he's not going to add wailing to his humiliation. He's going to be wrong about that.

He fights it as long as he can, 'till a foot lifts, then the other, then he reaches back to cover his butt, the one that's starting to turn a healthy shade of pink. I grab his hand, pin it to the small of his back and keep going. "O-Okay, you've made your point. I'll listen."

"You will listen and I'm just getting started."

"Ow! _Jesus,_ okay!"

I keep going 'till eventually he's squirming to get away, it gets harder to hold him in place and he hollers like a drama queen after he's realized he's not getting out of this before it _really_ hurts. I'm going to make sure I only have to make this point once.

"Do you understand now that when I say I'm gonna do somethin', I'm gonna do it?" I keep spanking, the kind Chris and Dean have told me is maddening because I never vary the pace, or the power behind my swats.

Sniffle. "Yeah."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir. Ow! That hurts." Sniff.

"It's meant to." I finish up and stand him up. His eyes are wet and I'm a bit surprised at how repentant he looks, even the way he's staring at me for direction is something I didn't expect. There's still plenty of Jake sass there too. "You will obey me, Sur."

"Yeah, yeah, Blondie."

He still wants to sass me, fine. I reach out to pull him back over, but he hides is red butt from me and takes a step back. "Yes, sir. I mean yes, sir!"

"Better," I tell him as I reach out to help him with his clothes, which he has to hiss and wince at when they're pulled over his freshly spanked bottom. "I mean business."

"Yessir."

"That's over now. Thank you honeycomb—I know you're gonna behave yourself. C'mere." I can't resist hugging him like I've wanted to do since I first laid eyes on him. He's not expecting it and I'm expecting him to fuss and complain like Michael does; he doesn't. He latches onto me.

"I'm sorry."

I hug him tight and sway him then pull him away to wipe his tears with my hand. Chris is leaning against the kitchen's doorframe with his arms out. "C'mere buck-a-roo."

He's surprising again when he heads straight over for a hug from Chris. Doesn't even complain about the nickname. Holy Moses. If I'da known spanking was going to work that well on Jake, I'da done it soon as he walked into the apartment. "He spanked me," he tattles.

"Yeah and you deserved every lick. Behave yourself and you won't have to worry about gettin' another one, Dallas is fair, but he's prone to over the knee chats—if anyone knows it's me."

"I don't have a hard time believin' that at all if what I heard the other night's anything to go by."

"Hey, I'll tell you somethin', if Dallas Colt spanks you, it's because he cares—he jus' likes me best is all." He ruffles Jake's dark, fringe-y quaff and lets him go with a decent wallop to his tender backside. "You be a good boy y'hear? Or I'm next. Go'on and wash your face."

Jake's features morph from annoyed and being noogied, to _he doesn't feel like finding out what a spanking from Chris is like._ He scurries off to the washroom.

"Well that tamed the savage beast," Chris says.

"You're tellin' me."

Michael saunters out. He is not amused. "If no one minds, I'd like to get a move on. I'd like to be back by dinner."

Jared's next to enter the living room, hanging up his phone. "That was Jen, he's downstairs. We ready to go?"

"Yeah, he was behind me, said he was stopping for gas."

"He did a little more than stop for gas. Bumped into a tip. Looks like we've got a three hour drive ahead of us."

Michael groans.

"Think you'd better cancel your dinner plans, sweetheart."

**

It's totally fucking unfair. Everyone got to go hunting except for me. Papa pretty much pushed Michael out the door. I couldn't believe it when Papa said yes, but I guess he does put a lot of faith in Uncle Jared and Jensen's hunting skills as well as Michael's angel abilities. When it came to me though, he was all, "Don't even ask Mr. Winchester." To which I replied, "I wasn't going to," except I was. It didn't make sense to me why he entrusted Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris's lives to the three and not mine, to which Daddy first fed me some bullshit about being his special Dean Bean.

When that didn't work, he told me the truth, which was, Papa knew he was being a hypocrite, but he's allowed because he's my father and he's not giving any further reason than that. I didn't really want to go on a hunt, so much as everyone else was going, but still.

And try as I might, now _Dean's_ MIA. 'Cause wouldn’t it have been nice for him to come by, take over and make my body go on the hunt? Then I could just blame him. But yeah, he doesn't show and I'm stuck here. Papa's in a bad mood. A real bad mood. Daddy's taken to calling him hurricane Cas. I get it, he's not mad at me, he assures me every five seconds, but he is mad at the situation. He's already called Uncle Bobby and grilled both Uncle Jensen and Uncle Jared, but Daddy knows more about Modlenol and how it works with my old life than the three of them combined (he did a lot of research when I was little) and even he doesn't know why Old Dean's decided to... 'return.' The whole thing's weird.

Uncle Jensen had the balls to suggest they cut me with a silver knife, to see if I was some kind of creature, the look Daddy gave him was awesome and had Uncle Jensen looking at the floor. He did agree to dousing me in holy water, which turned up negative. I'm glad I'm not a demon, though apparently it would have been pretty easy to, uh, exorcise me. Uncle Bobby said he'd keep looking in his books, but for now, I think Old Dean could be useful, if only I could figure out how to get him to come around.

He won't though, so I'm stuck here, 'cuz no way am I disobeying Hurricane Papa. It is good that Michael left. They were feeding off each other—it felt a lot like two giant alien robots crashing together in the sky. Both of them being unreasonable. Things have died down though since yesterday when they left.

"C'mon Dean Bean, you going to be upset the whole time they're gone?"

"The whole time who's gone?"

"Okay, okay. You don't want to talk about it, but I've got something I do want to do with you, let's take advantage of Michael being gone. Wanna beat me up?"

"Do I? Heck yeah. Let's do it." I'm confident. I know Old Dean's kicking around up there, like a drunken tenant; he'll come out and help me fight and I'll school Daddy. Why didn't I think of that? "I can't believe Papa's okay with that."

"We decided before this Texas trip remember? And much as your father and I don't like it, it's kinda become necessary, don't you think?"

"Oh, I remember Daddy. I'm just surprised Papa's willing to allow you to be the target with Old Dean on my side."

"I hate to rain on your Dean Parade, but the whole reason we're going to start practicing is because I don't think you can rely on… Old Dean."

We'll see about that. All my dreams of are shattered within the first thirty minutes. Daddy's a good fighter. When he knocks me on my ass for the tenth time, I'm fed up—Old Dean's throwing me under the bus. _What the fuck?_ I say to him in my head.

**Fat chance. I'm not hurting Sam.**

Oh sure, now he speaks. _But he's beating the fuck outta me. Out of us._

**Naw. Just you and trust me. You need it dude.**

_Dean. Dean!_ I try shouting at him, but he's gone. I have visions of him eating pie somewhere. I've lost it.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Yeah Daddy. How'd you get to be so good?"

"It all comes from growing up with so many brothers and Caroline. But you know I keep up with my fitness. I've taken a lot of instruction over the years, you know that."

"Yeah, but didn't realize you were such a ninja. Wish I coulda taken some of those courses—least I've got my bludgeoning skills from hockey." There's not a lot of strategy in those though. It's just punching, helmet, jersey. Still, good for close combat.

Daddy sighs. "Yeah, we shoulda probably let you—that was our mistake, but we really wanted your life to be without all this demons stuff. Guess it just follows you around, huh, baby boy?"

We go at it another three hours and I'm getting a little worse for wear, so Daddy decides practice is over. Old Dean is no show other than his 'words of wisdom'. Asshole.

"What now Daddy?"

He shakes Baby's keys at me. "Catch."

"How'd you get these from Papa?" I really thought I wasn't going to see these this trip.

"I know how to talk to your father, which is what I want to talk to you about. C'mon, let's go for a drive, we'll chat then we'll go see some of your aunts and uncles."

We drive Baby into town and to a place where everyone knows Daddy and comments on how big I've grown too many times before we get settled with food and people stop bothering us. "Okay, lay it on me. What am I being scolded for?"

He laughs. "Nothing sweetheart. I just want to start telling you more trade secrets, now that things with you and Michael are, well, what they are."

I nod.

"You've got to stop antagonizing him so much. I know you think it's fun and maybe Michael's okay with some of it, but my darling, you know what he's like, you can accept it and work with it, or go."

"But Daddy, he really does irritate me sometimes."

Daddy smiles. "I know. But honey, you have your very own top now—I'd even go as far as to say, you've got your very own Winchester since Michael is fairly Winchester-y. You have to take care of him."

"Doesn't he take care of me?"

"Yes, but in order to do that, you have to watch for signs and know the appropriate action. Haven't you ever noted a time something you did, or even just your presence, or calmed him?"

"Well, I kinda thought so the other night, I…" fuck I'm a little shy saying these things to Daddy, "first after he spanked me, he seemed real content. Then I told him how much I loved his protectiveness and that seemed to relax him; I also went to bed like he said even though I thought it was stupid, I felt like it would ease the turmoil he was in if he felt like he'd taken care of me. But he still needed the Pine-Sol. Clearly my methods need work."

"Not necessarily. It depends on _how_ riled he is. That night was pretty bad, but I'm sure what you did helped. Most important, you didn't make matters worse. You know Dean, I see you do the balancing thing with Papa all the time—it comes to you naturally."

"It's different with Michael somehow."

Daddy shakes his head. "Not different sweetheart—I've said it before, I'll say it a hundred times, those two are peas in a pod. The difference is you. You have zero problems with your father, except when you're being a surly brat," he says fondly, "could it have something to do with the style of your relationship maybe? I know you've done other things to soothe your man, but something stops you other times."

"Okay, so I get jealous. I'm a Winchester Daddy. It's what we do. I get jealous and I antagonize him to piss him off so he'll pay attention to me. I don't even realize I do it half the time, but I realized after this time, that's what I do." Spankings'll do that, make you think.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you how destructive that is when you do it so much."

I shake my head. "No, sir. It's just, he can be frustrating too. You saw him yesterday. He's being unreasonable. He told me until Jake has left the county, I'm not to be out of his eyesight. Daddy, I'm not letting him in the washroom while I pee."

Daddy laughs. "I know, but Papa's his own version of unreasonable when he's worried, tell me, what would you have done if Papa said that?"

"Okay, okay. You've got me." 'Cause my answer would have been yes, sir, should I just leave the door open? Or would you like to come inside?

"You don't trust him—that's the long and short."

"I do so, Daddy. I trust him with my life."

"You do, you trust him with some things, but not this."

"But what about when I don't agree with him?"

Daddy looks at me probably thinking I can't really be that dumb. But I am. He sighs. "You're going to have to accept you won't agree with him every time. It's trusting him to make the appropriate decision for both of you—remember the triangle sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Me, him, us." The 'us' can also include family. "But he isn't making appropriate decisions right now Daddy. He is being ridiculous, don’t you think?"

"I agree. He's being ridiculous. But Papa's not being any different and it barely bothers you."

Okay, another point Daddy.

"You didn't like Papa's decision, but you didn't argue, not just because the arguing would get you into trouble, you sensed how much Papa needed you to do that for him. You were happy to do that for him. Mostly," he adds slyly. "Knowing you'd be in trouble did balance the equation though."

"But Daddy, I understand that the circumstances are out of the ordinary. Ninety-five percent of the time, Papa is reasonable and fair. Michael's the opposite."

"True, but that's because for you two, you're living in that five percent Dean. He's always riled. It's up to you to restore balance to the force, my young padawan. You're going to have to put up with some unreasonableness, for a bit, but it will balance out. Promise. I have faith in Michael, in both of you."

"So what do I do? Roll over and play dead?"

"Have I ever done that, Dean?"

"No."

"Exactly. But you are going to have to suck it up for a bit—think about it as yet more of the mess you've made that you've got to clean up."

"Yeah."

"Not to worry though sweetheart, I'm going to help you. Your uncle Chris is going to help you and Gramma Winchester."

"There's going to be homework isn't there? Daddy, it's summertime."

"Maybe a little homework, but you're a smart boy—you'll figure it out quick."

A Few Days Later

We finally hear from them. Things took longer than expected. They said they'd explain when they got here which will be soon. In the mean time, we've done a lot of visiting. Papa made sure we were in church Sunday morning and I bumped into Brad. I'd never been so happy to be grounded—it gave me a good excuse why I haven't been in touch and why I haven't been able to hang out. He's so understanding, I feel bad.

Grampa seemed to be in the know about the hunting trip, which isn't surprising. I'll bet something like that had to be discussed with him too. That tells me how serious everything's getting and I try not to worry too much about it. It's handled, right? I worry about my family though, as much as they worry about me. Grampa and Gramma had happy smiles for me and they're looking forward to us moving camps day after Daddy and Papa's birthday party.

They had to take two vehicles. Uncle Dal's big truck (the one he drives now, not the small white one he used to—it's still around here somewhere though) pulls up first and the whole scene that follows is interesting as hell; all I can do is stare.

Uncle Dal hops out of the driver's side and is speedy getting to the other side of the truck, where Uncle Chris is climbing out of the _back,_ not the passenger side where you'd expect him. He's slower, putting on the Chesney hat as he exits. "C'mon buck-a-roo, put your arm around Papa," Uncle Chris says then laughs his goofy, Uncle Chris laugh.

"Are you two ever gonna let me live that down?"

Live what down?

"The nurse only said I looked like you because of what you wrote down on the damn papers. How you got them to believe all that without any identification is criminal."

"Ha! You're one to talk and I keep tellin' ya, Winchesters have ways." Uncle Chris is making jokes, but Uncle Dal is mega concerned. When Jake's left leg swings around to the edge (with assistance from Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris) and I see why. His left leg's got bandages, lots, the whole left leg of his jeans is cut away and I can see how they start at his foot and carry up to mid-thigh. What the hell?

Jake puts his arm around Uncle Chris as instructed as Uncle Chris slides an arm under his right thigh. Uncle Dal doesn't give him instructions, just leans in expecting Jake to sling his other arm around him, which he does and ever so carefully slides a large hand under what looks like just the right spot, to support his fucked up side.

Jake leans in to whisper something to Uncle Dal that makes him laugh then Uncle Chris is saying, "Hey!" to whatever it was, mock offended and the three of them are laughing like some messed up version of the Brady Bunch. And like they've done it a million times, they lift Jake together, Jake's face screwing up in pain, 'till they get him to Nan and Granddaddy's deck table, having to climb the five steps leading up to where I'm standing nearby. They sit him in one of the chairs. "Ah, hanging, hanging—" Jake looks to be in a lot of pain. I don't know what the fuck he means, but Uncle Chris seems to and snatches another chair as Uncle Dal slides his hand and forearm back under Jake's fucked up leg and foot and helps him rest that leg so it's extended on the second chair. Jake sags relieved.

"Wouldn't a wheelchair have been easier?" I ask.

"Keep yer mouth shut about wheelchairs, Winchester," Jake says.

"Jake," Uncle Dal warns. Jake's not sorry, but he shuts up. It's pretty incredible just _how_ fast he shuts up. "I'll go get the air cast."

"Uh, no way. That thing is torture."

"Just in case," Uncle Dal says already heading back to the truck to get it whether Jake likes it or not. Jake scowls after him.

"Now, now. Daddy just cares about you," Uncle Chris says, still having fun teasing him and enjoying himself way too much.

"That's it!" Jake reaches out in an attempt to wallop Uncle Chris, which only ends in Jake almost falling off the chair and Uncle Chris having to save him. When Jake is safe and sound, Uncle Chris dances out of the way. "Dean, punch him for me, will you?"

I can't take it anymore. "What the heck is going on?"

"We had to stretch a few truths at the hospital," Uncle Chris explains.

"Yeah and he thought it would be funny to put him and Dallas down as my parents, then proceed to think of every infantile name imaginable to, as he says, make the story believable."

"We were under cover." And when Jake still won't smile, "Aw, I'm just making you laugh. You love it—he was laughing earlier. Even made him an honorary Winchester on the papers: Jake Travis Winchester." _He made Jake a Winchester?_ Maybe nothing in some other family, no small thing in this one.

"I was high on morphine."

Uncle Chris ruffles Jake's hair. "Sure, Cowpoke."

" _See?_ " Jake must be desperate if he's trying to get comradery from me.

I can't help laughing too—it is funny.

Uncle Dal comes back with the boot looking thing and I'm shocked to see him holding a bottle of prescription meds. Uncle Dal looks them both over. "Are you harassing him again Chris?"

"He is Daddy," Jake says fake telling on him, with an equal amount of, _please get him off my back,_ in his thick accent.

"See? He's doin' it too," Uncle Chris says.

I have no idea what to make of this new dynamic.

"Enough you two. Jake, I may not be able to spank you as you are, but I have a long memory. Chris, I can spank you and I will right here if you don't quit it."

What? Spank Jake? He already has, hasn't he? That, I would have paid money to see.

"Can you stop sayin' that in front of people?" Jake complains.

"'Course I can, so long as you behave yourself, you won't have to worry about me sayin' that at all. You'll just have to be a good boy."

That infuriates Jake. I give a point to Uncle Dal.

"Hey half pint," Uncle Dal says with a hug for me. Jake watches us closely. "I think the pair of them might be more trouble than you."

"I think you're right Uncle Dal. Finally. Where's the rest?" In other words, where's Michael?

"Behind us—they'll hopefully show tonight or tomorrow. We got separated because we had to take Jake to the hospital, been there for two days. Things went haywire." He looks to Jake. "How's the pain?"

"Like I told ya five minutes ago, fine unless you've got one of them pills up for offer. Jesus. Y'all need to leave me alone."

He gets a not so good look from Uncle Dal, it's not a look I'd want to get anyway, but it doesn't seem to bother Jake. Uncle Dal wants to scold him, but he doesn't—keeps staring at Jake waiting for an apology that will never come. Uncle Dal's heart just tore a little.

"C'mon Dals. Let's go find some other thing we can do in here to annoy our fake son, like fix him something delicious to eat, or fresh squeeze him some OJ."

I can see what Uncle Chris is doing now, clearer than before; how he's taking care of his Top. I see this kinda stuff all the time and Daddy's right, some of it comes naturally to me, but now I'm trying to pay close attention and learn on a deeper level because I'm sure Michael's going to need me when he gets back. That makes me feel good.

"Here though, if you're gonna stay out here, you better take this," Uncle Chris says taking the Chesney hat off his head and popping it onto Jake's.

What in the actual fuck? Uncle Chris just gave him the Chesney hat? Well it's a loan, but still, that's like, like, I don't know, but it's something huge.

They both head inside, Uncle Chris having to drag Uncle Dal.

"Thank fucking Christ! I'm gonna kill those two; always fussing over me."

"Why do you gotta be such an asshole? They care about you. You have no idea how special that hat your wearing is. It's Uncle Dal's Kenny Chesney hat. Uncle Chris wouldn't put it on just anyone."

"Blah, blah, freaking, blah. It's just a fucking hat." He doesn't take it off though and in my opinion, he doesn't fucking deserve to wear it. Dick. "Be a dear and grab my crutches for me. I can't use'em for walking, but I can fend people off with them."

"Yeah, I'm going to be your slave." That's sarcasm if anyone cant tell. "What happened anyway? Break your foot?"

"Break? Try fucking obliterate. Do you know how many bones there are in the foot?"

"No."

"The answer is a lot and I broke a fuck ton of them, enough to ruin my foot, but not enough to need surgery and that's not all, a bunch of crap in my knee is all tore up. If it were all the way torn, it would have been surgery, but there's just enough holding it together, they think it'll heal on its own, so long as I take care of it, so they're waitin' and seein'. And it's so fucking painful, even drugs don't hide the pain of it hanging in space when I try to fucking crutch, least not with the doctor recommended dose and even in that stupid boot. Ashley and Mary-Kate in there keep watch over them pills like Alcatraz."

"He was asking about your pain."

"Yeah, doesn't mean he's giving me one of those happy pills yet—I have to wait four fucking hours between each dose so I don't 'overdose'." He says overdose like it's a made up thing. "He some how managed to get a butt load of 'natural' pain easers into the hospital."

I laugh. "You've been Colt remedied. Guess you're out for awhile, huh?"

He doesn't answer he just glowers. Yeah, that probably hasn't made him too happy.

Daddy comes out with a glass of water and two little yellow pills. That just looks wrong. "Here, Dal wants you to take these."

"Finally." Jake actually looks happy for a second, until Daddy starts touching his forehead. "Whoa, lay off. Doesn't anyone get to be alone around here?"

"Alone?" I laugh hard at that a few seconds. "No one knows what that means here Jake." He's funny.

Jake pulls the Chesney hat over his face. "I'm gonna sleep then. Least I can be alone in my head."

Daddy twists his lips. "Fine, Dean Bean, can you stay out here to watch him?"

"Why am I his babysitter?" I ask at the same time Jake says, "Don't need a babysitter."

"It's not babysitting, it's just kind."

"First I'm not allowed to go within three feet of him, now I'm looking after him?" Though that's only according to Papa. We knew they were on their way here, Daddy and Nana insisted because they had to see them after them being out doing dangerous things. Mostly because of Nana, Papa didn't have much choice, so he didn't make any comment on it other than some silent exchange he had with Daddy, which I took to mean all was okay, least for now. Michael is not going to be happy with this new development.

"I'm right there at the kitchen table and so is your father. Just come get one of us if he needs anything. We're going to visit with Nana and Granddaddy." And talk about stuff without me there, yeah I get it.

"I'm right here and still an adult. Also still capable of wrangling someone in for my 'needs'," Jake reminds us all.

"Right and will you?"

He doesn't answer.

"That's what I thought."

Daddy goes back inside and since I'm stuck out here with him, I pull up another chair like he's got, to put it under my feet. "So what is going to happen with you?"

"Can't you see I'm sleepin'? Do I have to tell my fake dads on you?"

I'd say he likes his fake dads, even though he's acting like a fucking douche bag toward them both. "You're not sleeping. Answer, or I'll tell them I heard you coughing—they'll think you need a special Colt poultice."

"You little bitch. Fine. They think I'm staying with them 'till I heal."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, soon as I can, I'm getting the fuck out of here."

"Yeah, right. That I'd like to see." I catch up on my texting while he does fall asleep. Brad wants to know when I'm going to be not grounded, which is looking on the up and up, so I go ahead and tell him soon (damn right I'm optimistic despite everything, the way I look at it, I've been serving time for both Michael and I—that's got to count for something). Not that I'm in any hurry to hang out with him; not only am I owed a spanking, but I have to break up with him. Hard to say which is worse. I also text Hannah who's been radio silence for days now. I got a text from her when I first got here, nothing notable, just some picture of a cat dressed like a hipster she thought was funny.

I'm super into my phone when Uncle Dal comes out with food. "He really asleep?" he whispers at me.

"Not sure."

"I made this for you guys, will you make sure he eats half pint?"

"Yes, sir." Poor Uncle Dal. He leaves the tray on the table and heads back in. I poke Jake. "You awake dickhead?"

"Nope."

"Start being a little bit nicer to my uncles and I'll hook you up, teach you the ropes."

"I don't need to learn any ropes," he says opening his eyes and fixing the Chesney hat on his head properly. "Not gonna be here long enough, but I will accept your slavery. What we got here?"

"Looks like Nan's stew." I take the bowls off the tray and put his in front of him, but it's when I have to pull my chair closer that I realize he's not going to be able to reach his. I move to get up and help him.

"If you try and help me, I'll beat you with my crutch when you get it for me."

That just makes me laugh. "You're such a drama queen. Do everything yourself, see if I care."

He maneuvers himself, inch, by inch having to used his good leg to help. It takes a long time, but he does it, enough to get close to his meal, but not without a yelp at one point, which made us both freeze and look to the sliding glass door to see if a 'grown up' was coming out. When no one came, we laughed and he continued on with his stupidity.

"Wow, this is good. You guys do know how to eat. Everything Dallas makes is gold—don't tell him I said that."

"You think that's awesome, you should hear him sing."

"Yeah, yeah. Mister country star. I knew who he was when I laid eyes on him, I don't make a fuss over that kind of stuff."

"You wanted _my_ autograph."

"That's different. Dean was a hunter. You got anymore cool stories like that? Entertain me slave."

"Fuck off jackass. And no. I'm outta stories. I get Dean radio on a limited frequency."

"So what, did you forget stuff?"

"Yep." I don't expand. Let him fill in the blanks.

"That sucks. Maybe this ain't so bad, least I get out of this at the end."

I'm going to let him fill in the blanks of that one too. 'Cause, I'm pretty damn certain I got a kick-ass deal out of the whole Modlenol situation.

Soon as were done, Uncle Dal is back to take the dishes and it confirms my suspicions that we're being watched from the door. "You look dopey from those meds, Jakey. How about coming in? We can get you all set up in my old room. Wouldn't you like to see my old room?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

I glare at him from behind Uncle Dal's back telling Jake the deal's going to be off; he's supposed to tone the dickhead down. "I mean, yeah, sure maybe later. I'm enjoying the fresh air after being holed up in that hospital for two days."

Uncle Dal looks him over. I don't think he was asking so much as doing that thing where he makes it sound like a suggestion, but it's not a suggestion. I'm waiting for Uncle Dally to get firm with him. He doesn't disappoint. "I'm giving you another thirty minutes then you're coming inside."

Jake's so embarrassed at being told like that, something I enjoy very much, he doesn't say a word 'till Uncle Dal's collected all the dishes and left. "They got an infantilism kink going on in this family or somethin'? Why do they treat everyone like they're eight years old?"

"Naw. It's not infantilism, everyone just likes to take care of each other—it's nice. Sure you don't want me to show you them ropes?"

"No, but you can go to the truck and get me that crutch before he gets back. Maybe I can fend him off."

I doubt it, but I head over to grab him the crutch anyway. That's all it is anyway. He can act like he's not enjoying being taken care of, but there's a balance of all things in this family, like Daddy was taking about earlier. So even if he complains and swears and is in general a douchebag, I know I saw him relax the moment Uncle Dal came out and even more when Uncle Dal told him how it was gonna go.

**

"Okay. Time to come in," I tell our fine feathered friend. He's not pleased, but that makes two of us. I've had to watch him struggle out here for the past hour and a half while Sammy and Chris all but tied me down to keep me coming out here and fetching him. _Give him a little space Dals._ That's what my soon to be husband said, but I've been going out of my mind. The doctor was clear, he's borderline. The breaks in his foot were clean and will heal nicely, providing he doesn't do anything stupid (which I'm sure he's gonna the moment I've got my back turned), but his knee is an uncertainty. He might have to have that operated on.

"Dean and I are talking, I'll come in, in a sec."

I ignore him. I've brought Sammy this time to help me. "You expect me to believe you and Dean are best friends?"

"Not best friends, but we're friends aren't we half pint?" Jake says. Dean thinks that's a dig to him, but it's not, it's for me. I've learned that's Jakes way of being playful, namely when he's trying to be charming. Of course it works on me. Chris says the boy can play me like a fiddle and he's right. And I think he has charmed Dean into liking him a little.

"Friends is a bit strong, I'd say more like fond acquaintance," Dean smirks.

I smile at the two of them, liking that they're getting along in their own way, as both Sam and I lean down for Jake to put his arms around us. I always take his 'bad' side, which I know he appreciates. He was looking at me with concern when he saw Sammy instead of Chris, but the relief is plain when I come around to his torn up leg. I know the precise spot to grab it so it doesn't hang and cause him pain and I'm the only one who can do it too—my hand's the exact right size to fit in the crook where his knee meets his calf.

He puts an arm around each of us. I like the shy familiarity I feel with him doing that. I know I'm not his parent, but it makes me feel like I am. "Well, how long I gotta rest for?" By the way he's sagging against me, I'd say awhile, but I'm not telling him that so he can pitch a fit.

"We'll see." I know soon as I get him into bed, he's gonna conk right out from those drugs. "Sleep's the best medicine."

"Yeah, yeah."

As we walk in, Chris, who's just got off the business call he was on, walks up to us and reclaims his hat. Like it or not, it guts Jake. He won't say it, but I can feel it from him. Chris can tell. "Don't worry, I'm just watchin' it for ya. You're gonna be out like a light."

He relaxes again and is almost too tired for a retort. Almost. "Keep it. I don't need your stupid cowboy hat. There's one in my car if y'all just take me there. Fact, there's a lot of shit in my car I'd like to get."

"Jake."

"What? Oh seriously are you 'languaging' me? I'm a grown… never mind, like that does any good around here."

"There you go. You're learnin'," Chris says.

"Giddy up horseys, take me outta here. Least I'll get some peace and quiet from y'all upstairs."

"Lordy bee," I say rolling my eyes skyward, but Sam and I do carry him upstairs.

Not much has changed about the room since I moved out when I was seventeen to live with Cas and Sam. I came back enough Mama left it as it for the most part. I've updated things here and there, but I think I still have clothes in the back of my closet that might fit Dean.

The covers are already pulled back. I came up here while he was outside to keep myself busy and tidied up. We slide Jake onto the bed as far as we can, enough I can feel comfortable letting his injured leg go and the bed will continue to support it. When he begins to swing the ninety degrees he needs to, so he can lie down, I'm there to help. His stubborn ass shoos me away. "I'm fine."

To prove his point, he figures out quick how to slide his right foot under his left calve, just so, to support it enough to swing it around. "Okay, you're fine. How's the pain?" He can grouch at me all he wants, I'm asking. Sam's got the same attitude, fluffing his pillows whether he likes it or not.

"Depends, is it time for another pill?"

"Not for three more hours, honey, but I've got other ways—"

"Whiskey?"

"You can't have alcohol with this medication—it could put you in a coma." I've already told him this. He's getting on my last nerve. If he weren't so darned charming, I could let him go be someone else's problem, but I can't. He's mine.

"Might be preferable," he says.

"No."

"Then I'm fine."

"Suit yourself." I want to strangle him. "Sleep. I'm coming back to check on you, I'd better find you fast asleep." Since he doesn't need me, I head to the door, Sammy proceeds me out.

"Uh, ah, wait," he says. I turn around, I can see Jake watching 'till Sammy's gone. "What if I have to pee?"

"Call my…" oh he can't, he lost his cell phone in the demon fight. "I'm sure Nana Colt," (all the kids call her Nana Colt, even the friends of cousins, so I figure it's appropriate for Jake to as well) "has one of them bottles like they had in the hospital. I'll get you one."

He shivers. "Yeah, 'cause that went over well. Couldn't you just…well couldn't you stay with me?"

I have to fight not to smile. I know this boy whether he wants me to or not. I can't let him see how happy I am for asking me to stay though. _Be cool. Be cool. Don't make a deal Dallas Colt._ "Yeah honeycomb, I can do that for you. I'll stay 'till you fall asleep." I pull out a guitar and sit on the edge of the bed. "How 'bout a song?" I start tuning it.

" _That_ I know I'm too old for—getting sung to sleep."

I keep tuning. "I sing to Chris all the time."

"Yeah but, you guys are all, you guys."

"And me and you are me and you. Close your eyes, Sur."

He huffs, but he does and I sing for him. He's out before the second chorus.

**

We're still waiting on Michael, Uncle Jen and Uncle Jared.

After much bickering and debacle, Jake managed to get his cart and horses to bring him out to the fire Granddaddy lit—a bunch of the Colts are coming by tonight and even Grampa and Gramma Winchester. Clarabelle, Uncle Benny and Clarence might come too.

Jake's sitting in his own world. He's all propped up and he thinks no one's paying attention to him, that's not true, but still he thinks it and he's kinda bent over on himself looking lost and drunk—the latter impossible since Uncle Dal won't even let him look at alcohol while he's on those meds. He's in pain, but I don't think it's because of his injury just now, it's the internal kind of pain, the kind that twists your guts.

He picks up the guitar Uncle Dally left against a chair there and starts plucking at the strings, swaying side to side to a tune in his head—he looks fucking woeful. He swipes as his eyes, then is back to his plucking until it turns into a song—fucking hell; Jake can play. I can't hear the words 'till he gets louder at the chorus. "You only need a roof when it's raining. You only need a fire when it's co- _old._ You only need a drink when the whiskey, is the only thing that you have left to hold…"

Fuckballs he can sing. Like, can _really_ fucking sing.

Uncle Dal's over like a shot. Like a careful shot. He's been treating Jake like you might a wild animal, approaching him with caution, but also with a good mix of his _this is the way things are going,_ firmness that makes him Uncle Dal.

And he's got another guitar.

"That's Stapleton. I'm a huge fan, I met him last year when I was on tour. Mind if I join in?"

"It's a free campfire."

From there, it's like a family match made in heaven. Uncle Dal knows the song (he knows every song) and starts where Jake left off. "Sun comes back up and goes back down. And falling feels like flying 'till you hit the ground."

Jake joins in, they sing together. "Say the word and I'll be there for you. Baby I will be your… parachute."

"Should I be jealous?"

I'm so wrapped up in watching them, I jump. "Michael?" I try to keep the excited hysteria to a minimum. It feels like it's been forever since I've seen him. I turn to view him full. He's got his blazer off, slung over his shoulder behind him. He looks like he just got home from a long day at the office, except for you know, all the damage to his vessel. "Michael!" I smash into him and put my arms around him. I breathe him in. "I missed you."

"I missed you too Duck."

"No you shouldn't be jealous. I'm not looking at Jake, I'm looking at the pair they're—"

"Yes I noticed. I didn't realize Dallas was into bringing home lost puppies."

"You have met my uncle? He's a Colt, enough said. But you know, he's not so bad, I think even I could be friends with him, that is, if it's okay with you?"

He tilts my chin up to give me a nice kiss. "Maybe."

Maybe? Since when does Michael use 'maybe?'

"I still don't particularly trust him, but unless someone allows me to heal him, he's going to be around whether I like it or not. I would appreciate it if you avoided him for now, at least when I'm not around. Give me time to think it through."

My immediate though is, just how am I supposed to do that? But I remember what Daddy said about sucking it up for a little while. The decisions Michael makes, aren't just about me, but him too; what he can handle and you know? he is being reasonable—for Michael. "I will Michael."

"Is that what makes you behave? My absence? I can't say it's something I'd be able to support—I didn't like it."

"No, I just, got some perspective."

"Well whatever the reason thank you, Duck. Are we still on restriction? I'd like to be able to do things to you I don't want your parents seeing," he says in my ear.

"Papa hasn't said we aren't and he's not in the best of moods." Not that we should ask even if he were happy as rainbows.

Daddy pops his head out, but when he sees Michael, he beelines for him. "Michael! You're home. Thank the good lord." I have to get out of Daddy's way so Michael can be wrapped in a hug. "I'm so glad you're home safe cornbread."

Michael might pretend he doesn't like Daddy's attention, his face is all scrunched up in disdain, but the way his hands dig into Daddy's shirt, I can tell he's pulling Daddy to him, he needs the hug just as much as Daddy does. When Daddy breaks away from Michael, he checks over his face swiping his thumb over the big bruise there. "Come on into the kitchen then, we'll get this fixed up."

If Michael wants to argue, he can't. Daddy's got an arm around him, pulling him in through the door. I follow, taking a look back to Uncle Dal and Jake. Uncle Dal's managed to get Jake to smile, one that's stayed. Jake says something I can't hear, but I can tell it was Jake-brand humor and playfulness, the kind that seems to make Uncle Dal's face break out in a mix of amused and okay you're funny Jake Travis, but you can stop being a smart aleck anytime. Uncle Dal grabs the tip of his Chesney hat, the one on Jake's head and now seems to get passed between Chris and Jake, tugging it and twisting his head gently with a broad smile. Uncle Dal's a new kind of happy and that's saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song Dal and Jake were singing, the inspiration for a lot of this chapter and seriously THE best song out there right now. Anyone else love Stapleton?
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mcaOIyYv-gY


	37. So Much Toppishness

I love the feeling of Michael pinning me to the wall. I missed him so god damn much, I don't even mind his bossy-self, or the spanking he gave me just on principle. He claims it was an _I missed you duckling_ spanking and I didn't mind, until I was over his knee trying not to bite my lip off, though, okay, I didn't even mind then—much.

Michael spends time sucking on my top lip as I tease at his bottom one, his hand by my head on the wall, his other hand reaching down the back of my pants, squeezing my sore ass that's still toasty warm. "I want you," he parts from my lips to say. "Want you so fucking bad—you're mine Dean."

I love the way he's been saying that. It's got a new quality to it and I feel like he feels it's true for the first time, though I've been telling him all along. His tongue explores my mouth and I get lost in a world of Michael. Mean? Dechal? Michean? We don't have the best shipname (yeah I ship things) but I think if he changes his name to Winchester someday, so I can have some kind of stamp on him, that's good enough for me. _It could be our little secret, his father wouldn't have to know._ "Yeah, all yours Baby." He _knows_ he's mine, but man, how I'd like to tattoo it on him.

He keeps kissing me stupid, 'till he reads from my body language that I do have to come up for air. We rest our foreheads together. "Great. Now I have to go chat with your father sporting the world's hardest hard on."

"That does, suck, can't say I envy you. I regret nothing,"

"Neither do I. End of story," he says giving me a coy look.

"End of story." Fuck, I should practice saying that with less whimsy and glitter-dust.

"I'm helping outside."

"Oh yes, Colts and church mayhem. Joy."

I love his less-than-enthused-sarcasm. "But also, Daddy and Papa's birthday mayhem."

"Right, what did you get them this year?"

"They always warn me not to get them anything."

"Which you usually ignore."

I smile. He knows me. I did get them something, but since they're the hardest parents to buy for on the planet, it's usually just a small something that's thoughtful. "Fine I did, but you tell me yours first."

"Nothing. You guys are always away on their birthday, I didn't get them anything then, why start now?"

"Right, 'cause that stupid expensive bottle of wine you show up with first dinner back from Texas holiday isn't for their birthday."

"I often bring wine to a dinner."

"Never with the price tags like that—unless for a special occasion."

"How would you know how much they cost?"

"Saw the receipt for one once."

"You're way too snoopy."

"Snoopy comes in handy."

Michael's too drunk on whatever's made him so soft and agreeable, to scold me to heavily for that. I know this can't last, this is Michael we're talking about for starters and I wouldn't want this to last anyway—I love my hard-ass, bad-ass, I will spank you into next week Michael best, even if I'm seen complaining about it. "I wrote them a letter. Once that's sure to make Daddy cry and put that special gleam in Papa's eye. I wrote the shit out of it."

"Not another sentimental, sap-filled letter," he says. He's totally jealous.

"You want one for your birthday?"

"I don't have a… forget it. I have to go. Behave Dean and remember our rules about Jake."

"I will Michael," I try to say with as little exasperation as possible.

He pulls his head away from mine to press my nose with his and tilt my chin up to kiss my lips. "See you soon, if your father doesn't kill me for something."

"He's not going to kill you, he likes you now, remember? You're biffers."

"We are not, _biffers._ "

I shrug. "Sure you're not."

**

I've had to conduct a lot more business than usual in the Colt office this time— _if you can call it that._ It's nice, but it's too disorderly for me. I like neat, tidy, _uncluttered._ But that would make it a Winchester office and I am just a Winchester in Colt office, which makes it a bit harder to sort my thoughts.

I'm grateful to be distracted when there's a knock on the door, even though I know who it is. "Come in, Michael."

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. Please have a seat."

Michael closes the door softly behind him and instead of gliding, as he often does, his gait is stilted; unsure. He watches me like I'm a large cat you wouldn't turn your back on and he sits. I notice he's not as laid back in dress as he has been, but he's adapted some of the relaxed, Colt apparel into his own style. His jeans don't have any holes, they're more like something Chris would wear to a casual lunch and he's wearing a relaxed, bright blue cotton t-shirt.

Sometimes I hate how observant I am. I can tell he's been kissing my son (puffy lips) with a bit of irritation around the upper (Dean biting him) and they're just the slightest tinge more red than usual (he kissed Dean for awhile).

I don't ask that to bother me, I have to push down the irritation, push it down to my guts with the effort of doing so snarling on my face. I remind myself that Michael does care for Dean, lives for Dean and would die for him too—to calm me. I don't want to get this bothered, I just am: Jealous, possessive, all-consuming.

Feeling my menace, Michael's eyes flick away for a second, but he forces them up to meet mine.

"We have things to discuss Michael."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you eradicate the demon, the one that killed Jake's father?"

"He's dead sir, along with twenty others."

"Twenty? How did you guys—?"

"I told you I would protect them and I did. It might cost me, but I called in a favor to my uncle Gabriel."

That is impressive. I give him a proud quarter smile. "Thank you for protecting our family, Michael."

It's entertaining to watch the effect that has. He squirms and doesn't know where to look; he bites his lip—does he know he does that? He must have picked it up from Dallas—and clears his throat. " _Our—_ thank you, sir." He releases the oxygen he was holding tight in his vessel and relaxes, marginally.

"Is there some way I can extend my thanks to your uncle?"

"It's… rather better you didn't, sir. Rest assured, he got something out of it worthwhile."

I don't ask, if Michael didn't offer, assuming the something worthwhile is his father's business, he can't speak about. "We need to talk about Dean—"

"—I take full responsibility for us making out in the hallway I—"

"—I didn't bring you in here to take you to task for that, though _no_ you and Dean shouldn't be making out in the hallway. First, the easier topic, Jake." I can't believe that's the easier topic. "What do we do about that?"

Both Michael and I (much as I hate to admit it) agree full-heartedly that Jake is a hunter and he's too dangerous to be around Dean.

"Y-You want my opinion, sir?"

"That's what I asked for, didn't I?"

"I don't want him anywhere near Jake."

"Neither do I."

We stare at each other, pull in a deep breath and sigh together. "We can't do that though, can we?" Michael says. Again I'm impressed. He's learning.

"No. We can't. We're not going to be perfect, but we should strive to do what's best for the family, for Dean. Jake is no longer the strange hunter who attacked you in the barn—he's Dallas's and Christian's." Nothing's been made official, I'm still certain he's going to bolt first chance he gets, but whether he does, or not, he's been absorbed into our family. It's no longer feasible to tell Dean he can't hang around Jake.

Michael nods. "I've been trying to get used to it in baby steps. First I told him I had to be around, then—recently—that someone else had to be with them. Next, I'm going with at least someone in view, last they can try some kind of visitations alone, but he'll have to run it by me."

I can't help it, I smile. That's the best someone wanting to be with Michael, or myself in particular, can hope for by way of compromise. Michael has to look away, feeling shy. "I will leave that to you Michael. It seems to me you've got things well in hand."

"Yes, sir."

Now the hard part. "Old Dean."

Michael's hands tighten on the chair arms, but before we get the chance to discuss it, there's a knock and it's Sam. I smile as he enters hesitantly, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, he takes one out to tuck his hair behind his ear, then replaces it, and makes his way over to me for a kiss. "Hey Cassy."

Michael's used to us, but he's still looks away to give us privacy.

"Perfect timing." I asked if he would come by to help me with this part, but told him if he couldn't, I'd do it myself.

"Dean told me you were meeting with Michael now. I got away when I could."

Saved by the Sam. Sam had good points when we spoke, but they're still frightening considerations.

"What's your enlightening point of view, Daddy Winchester?"

"Acceptance."

"What? No, I disagree. Am I allowed to vote on this one? Mr. Winchester, you don't agree with this do you?"

As we expected, Michael is freaking. "Look Michael just hear me out," Sam says.

Michael crosses his arms and sits back in a posture that in no way suggests open-mindedness. I have to admit, it's probably what I looked like when Sam discussed this with me. "When Dean came home from his friend's house, the night demons decided to show up, I near lost my mind. We all did."

I remember the spanking I had to give him.

"I was insane over it, even though it's not been our first run in with demons and Dean, but if we don't accept it won't be our last, then we're the stupid ones—we've been the stupid ones all this time. I know we all want to shield Dean, maybe even me most of all, but we can't."

We've slowly been letting go of that over the years, even though it may not look like it. When he was very little, we were ridiculous with our protections, but as he grew we realized he would have to know more and more. He's no dummy either, Dean figured out enough to ask questions. Finally, when he was around twelve, we had to tell him the most we'd ever told him with the assistance of his uncles and Bobby, when it became apparent that we should get anti-demon possession tattoos.

"We haven't been honest with ourselves. 'Old Dean's' been in there this whole time. Every one of us can name an instance when we weren't sure it was just 'our Dean' in there."

Michael's arms huff, if that's possible, but it's clear he can't argue Sam's statement.

"Whether it was something Dean said, or did, or knew, someway he acted—he is old Dean and new Dean. He's really just Dean."

"Well old Dean was quiet before, why can't he go back to being quiet?"

"Really Michael? I thought Angels didn't forget things? I remember a time you were scared to _lose_ old Dean. When Dean was losing his memories of his former self, you thought he'd stop loving you."

Michael blushes at such a vulnerable piece of him being revealed—even if we all know it.

"All the Deans love you Michael, all the Dean's love us."

"But this Dean is dangerous. I like the new one better."

We both know he doesn't mean that. "This Dean can actually protect our Dean. Because of us, all he knows is hockey and three Asian languages. Even his best hockey brawling skills aren't going anywhere with a Demon. We loved Dean and provided him with what he didn't have before, family and we thought we could keep him away from a hunting life, but we… we can't."

That's the hardest pill for me to swallow.

"So we're just going to let old Dean take him from us? No. I don't agree to this."

Sam sighs, tired, trying to find a way through to Michael. "Old Dean's not taking him from us Michael. Dean is old Dean and new Dean and red Dean and blue Dean—all Dean."

"If that's true, then why are we only seeing so much of old Dean now?"

"The why, I'm not sure, but I have a theory on the how. I think somehow Dean's mind was partioned."

"What do you mean, partioned?" Michael perks up like he knows something.

"Like, imagine a brain was made up of different boxes—"

"—Or apartments."

"Yeah." Sam raises a questioning brow at him.

"Dean said something like that."

"So he thinks so too," Sam says. "I don't know whether it was a conscious or unconscious thing, but I think Old Dean could sense he was being erased, so he tucked himself somewhere safe. But now he feels needed and he's come out. However we want to think about it, Old Dean comes from within Dean, our Dean. We have to accept him Michael—all of him."

Michael's quiet for a full minute, but even he (like me) can't disagree with Sam's logic. "I don't like it."

"No one said you had to like it. I know you worry about him, we all do, we will forever, but it's not like we can get inside his head."

"I can get inside his head."

"Right, allow me to rephrase that. Getting inside his head does us no good."

"Sure it does. Perhaps I can erase old Dean."

"No Michael. The answer to that is always no. He is old Dean—the two are intimately intertwined—erase old Dean and you erase our Dean."

I can tell Michael still doesn't like it, but he's letting Sam's words wash over him, like I did forming a truce with them for now.

"Not to worry Michael," I say. "Old Dean, new Dean, our Dean, purple Dean, he will obey the rules."

He gives me a minute nod and uncrosses his arms. "Yes, sir. May I be excused?"

Michael needs time to digest this in a place that isn't in front of Sam and I. "You may."

When he's gone, Sam moves closer and I pull him to me, he nibbles on my ear. "And you say you're terrible at soothing him, I think you're the best at it."

I give him a decent swat to this ass. "Don't start something we can't finish, Baby." I press my lips to his. "Where is our boy anyway?"

"Backyard, labeling jam jars with Jake—don't worry, he's surrounded by a million and a half Colts."

"Have you talked to him about all this recently?"

"If you mean since this morning then no. He's okay Cas."

"So what you're saying is I should talk to him."

"Sure, Papa Bear. Talk to him if you must, but he's really okay. I've been keeping a close eye on my cub. And Dally, and Michael."

I know they have. But…

"But you do it best," he says fondly, predicting my thoughts. "Talk to him Cassy." He gives me a final peck.

I will, but maybe I'll wait 'till after the chaos leaves.

(Still Thursday)

It's not as hard to stick to Michael's rules as I thought it would be and Jake's right; Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris fuss over him a lot. Currently though, we've been put to work (Uncle Dal wanted Jake to go in for a rest, but Jake threw a fit which led him to say, 'if you're well enough to throw a fit Jake Travis, you're well enough to do a task) tying ribbons around the jars of pickles Auntie Georgia made for the church fundraiser this Sunday and labeling them.

She made a lot, but she also had several Colts (there's no shortage around here) to help, so we have time to add extra things like ribbons, unlike the recent bean fiasco back home. Jake's in a bad mood and for some reason, even though at least two Top-types don't want me around him, I've been unofficially nominated to entertain him.

We're at the end of a long row of picnic benches; Auntie Georgia's here, Uncle Blake, Sammy Jr. and a few others to help sort and package things. "Don't tye'em all messy like that dude—you're just gonna have to redo them when someone sees. They're strict about this stuff."

"You do it then. This is for the birds." He sits back, crossing his arms, narrowing his eyes into slits.

Uncle Chris stops by to pop a hat, _the_ hat, onto his head. I still can't get over the way they pass the hat back and forth, like they know who should wear it next. It's understood that the hat is Uncle Dal's, always has been, always will be, but it's become some kinda 'family' ritual. Jake appears to be forming some grasp of what that hat means. He's too stubborn to admit it, but it's easy to see the reverence in which he adjusts the hat on his head and the way his shoulders relax feeling like he's part of something special—even if he wouldn't know special if it asked him out to dinner.

Uncle Chris usually has some kind of tease or joke for him, but right now, he's got the same look Papa gets when he thinks I need sorting out. It's not a good look and even though it's not directed at me, I make sure the ribbon I'm tying is extra straight. "There a reason the sunniest guy in Texas looks overcast?"

Yeah, it's called Jake was a total dick to him, but he was a dick in such a way, he couldn't be scolded for it; least in Uncle Dal's world. Winchesters don't live in worlds where they can't scold you. Jake has enough sense to recognize he's a fucking lobster being held over a pot of boiling water. "I just wanted to be left alone for five minutes," he says only he's polite as fuck.

Uncle Chris crosses his arms and puts on his Winchester game face. "I'm gonna tell you this one time, so pay attention. You asked to come here," he did? "and against our better judgment, we obliged. Far as I'm concerned, that's a privilege, which are not free around here." So the Winchester mantra goes. "If I don’t see a Dallas sunrise by lunch time, we're leaving, understood?"

Jake looks like he'd rather punch Chris in the face than say what's he's supposed to, which is 'yes, sir,' while at the same time, he's trying to keep his breathing even in the face of all that Winchester power. I've noticed that all the blood's left his face; he can try to act tough all he wants, he knows he's fucked up. "I understand." His teeth are grit like he's chewing nails.

Uncle Chris isn't completely satisfied, I know that look; Jake should have went with the sir. "How many you got left there, Dean?" he asks.

I look behind me at the stacks of boxes. "Uh, like three hundred or so?"

I follow his thought process. Jake and I were assigned this together; it's a job for two (Colt's do have some system management even if Papa doesn't think so—Uncle Chris at least gets it some), if he's gonna pull Jake out, he wants to know that either someone else can assist me, or that we've reached a point where it's become a one person job. I know the number we've got left is a lot, even by Colt standards. I watch him doing the math in his head and come to my conclusion. "Lunch," he says and he's fucking ominous as hell then walks away. Jake is watching him for signs of demonic possession, I'm sure.

"How does that not chill ya to the fuckin' bone? I've seen friendlier ghosts."

I assume he's referring to the Winchester Brand: This nonsense is one hundred percent done as I have now declared it so. "Twenty-five years of experience."

"Gotta admit—and don't you fuckin' say shit Winchester—but it's strangely reassuring, like, like my old man. He was a real hard-ass, but it was still nice knowing he was there to watch my back."

Is Jake confiding in me?

"Uh, well duh. Sure they're strict, but Winchesters are damned near the best thing to have on your side. Even a Colt, despite their Mama-hen tendencies."

We work hard at the jars and Jake actually tries. They still suck ass, but he tries. Uncle Dal comes by when we're almost done. He's tense in a way Uncle Dal is never tense, which speaks to the level he cares about Jake and how much he's hoping he'll stay, or Hell just be nice to him. Jake lays out all the charm he can. "Oh there you are Dallas. Ya know, I'm famished, is lunch soon? and man I'm thirsty, that OJ you make is, well it's the best I've ever had. Think you could fix me some? Gotta admit, it'd probably be even better with Vodka, but somethin' t'look forward to when I'm all better, huh?"

Uncle Dal's face lights up. "Anythin' Jakey, anythin' at all an' it's yours." I swear Uncle Dal's accent slips into the Colt-range. "Lunch is still a little ways off—Nana Colt's fixing up some nice soup and sandwiches, but I can get you a snack and some OJ."

Poor Uncle Dal. Jake has no idea how much work goes into making fresh OJ, but I think at the moment, Uncle Dal only cares about doing whatever will please Jake.

"Thank you." He flashes Dal a heartbreaking smile.

Uncle Dal relaxes, ecstatic, in a hurry to run to do Jake's bidding. But before he goes, he tugs the hat on Jake's head with a small twist. "You want anythin' Half Pint?" Uncle Dal runs a hand through my hair, which is familiar and soothing, something he's done since I was little.

Jake watches.

"Sure Uncle Dally. Can I have _mine_ with vodka?"

"I don't think so, Sur."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Be a good boy, Half Pint."

"Yes, sir Uncle Dal."

When he's gone, Jake's glaring at me. "Can you be anymore of a suck up?"

"Not sucking up—that's me and Uncle Dal since I can remember."

He ignores me and works on his next jar. I think he's, oh my god he's jealous. _He's such a Daddy's boy._ "Why'd you want to come here, Jake?"

"None 'a yer god damned business."

That's the last thing he says to me for awhile; we ribbon and label jars in silence.

**

Uncle Dal brought us stuff and it was all smiles from him, brighter than a Colt at a church fundraiser. Jake was more agreeable after some attention from Uncle Dal I noticed. Now, closing in on finishing our job and because I think I see Papa for a second, I straighten up, but it's not, it's Uncle Chris. Those two look too much alike at first glance and especially now when he's in full Winchester mode, exuding an aura that could be mistaken for 'top'. I'm reminded that just because you're not a Head of House, or a 'top-type,' that doesn't mean you can never be authoritative. Daddy does it all the time, his way is just different. With Winchesters, they're a little more like steel and Uncle Chris does it very well. He has Jake fumbling over his words.

"H-He was fine wasn't he? We're, we're not goin' home are we?"

Jake also seems to know it's time for a hat trade-off. He holds it out to Uncle Chris, who accepts it and places it on his head then ruffles Jake's hair. "You done good, but your eyes are droopier than a sunset."

"Dallas's room. I've slept there before. Couldn't I just have a rest up there? Long as you and Dallas say. Sir." The sir is belated, but said with the familiarity of someone who's said it all his life.

Uncle Chris appraises him. "The final word is up to Dallas, but it's a yes from me since he's smilin', but you best keep it that way." Uncle Chris is stern, but Jake is lucky Chris is conceding his request. Papa _never_ would have under similar circumstances.

He leaves to go get Uncle Dal (presumably) and Jake stares after him in awe. "He's somethin' else—I can't figure him out," Jakes says.

"Don't even try," I advise, adding another ribbon and label combo to a final jar then wiping my hands on each other. And even I have to say, Jake doesn't look good, he looks like he could use a year or two of sleep.

Uncle Chris is back with Uncle Dal and Jake makes a gallant attempt to smile for him. "Okay, I know Chris had a word with you and that's why you transformed into Mr. Pleasant, but you can relax now. I know you're exhausted." Uncle Dal runs a hand over his head and through his hair, like he might have been checking for a temperature in a sneaky way, so Jake wouldn't notice.

"I'm dopey from that yellow-crap is all, but I'll have a little rest and be fine." The yellow-crap is his pain medication.

Uncle Dal gives Jake his, _I don't know about that,_ look with a twist of his lips that means things aren't looking good on the Jake staying here front. Uncle Chris must see it too, he comes to the rescue. "He slept pretty good cozied up in your bed last time."

They talk about him like he's not here and the thought of Jake snug as a bug in a rug in his old bed, makes Uncle Dal smile. "He did."

"Should we put him up there?"

"I was thinking we should call it a day, but they do need all hands on deck today—will you be able to get ample sleep up there, Jakey?"

"'Course. Right now, I could sleep on a pile of rocks."

Uncle Dal's biting his lip. He nods. "Okay then."

That took effort, combined effort, which I'm seeing in a different way after all that lecturing from Daddy. But Uncle Dally is on a roll that doesn't stop with Jake. "If you're done those half pint, go see Auntie Georgia for a job—it's best you keep busy and stay out of trouble today."

"Hey, what'd I do?"

"Nothin', yet. Let's keep it that way," he says with a wink.

"Yeah, okay."

"What was that?"

"Yes, sir."

Jake gets carted off by Uncle Chris and Uncle Dal for his 'nap,' and I meander over to Auntie Georgia for another job. I'm helping make treat bags for the little kids when Michael saunters over to me, casual as you please. Wait, wasn't he just talking with my father? Shouldn't he look like he's chewing glass or something? "So?"

Michael cards a hand through my hair and lets his hand slide down the back of my neck to cradle and pulls me in for a kiss that's chaste enough for Daddy's approval, but still sends fire down to my toes. "Missed you."

"Seriously what the fuck, Michael? Did Papa drug you?"

He smiles. Yeah, that's right, smiles. Where does he get off being all dreamy and shit? "Your father doesn't know how to drug me—I came to give you good news."

"Yeah?"

He grips my arms giving them a little rub. "Papa Winchester and I have concluded that keeping you from Jake no longer makes sense."

"Well, duh. He's kinda been adopted." I try to say that like I mean it, but I had real worry they were going to concoct some scheme to keep me away from Jake, which for some reason involved bubble wrap. Tops can be harebrained too if their concern level ratchets from worried to, _over my dead body Dean Winchester._

Michael nods. "He has. We're still doing this in baby steps," he reminds me sounding a lot more like _my_ Michael.

"I remember. Jake and I were out here the whole time with lots of family around. I mostly lectured him. I thought he's supposed to be older than me?"

"Not in family years. Jake's never had a large family like this. He grew up a hunter."

Like Dean. Old Dean.

"Since when are you sympathetic to Jake? C'mon Michael, smirk or something. You're really weirding me out."

"He… reminds me too much of someone. Let's leave it at that."

I analyze this, because if I don't and I cause trouble (when we're already still in trouble for the last time, by the way) Daddy will be pulling me aside again and the spanking will be nothing compared to the lecture and disappointment. It's not the only reason; Daddy's right, I'm not always fair to Michael and it doesn't help us. He's got an angel level of anxiety when it comes to me and it's never going away. It's part of him. I _know_ he means me and I could push him and antagonize him, like I do, or I can not be a shithead. The other way is fun, for me and I can't promise to never be a shithead again, but I can tone it down so he's not a frayed batch of angel nerves.

I rub my knuckles lightly over his face. "Okay Michael, let's leave it."

His body releases in a way I've seen Papa's do when Daddy works his magic on him and likewise when Daddy's worked his magic on Michael. It feels…well it's the absolute best thing. I did that. He was feeling shitty and all tied in knots and I undid one (let's not be foolish enough to think I've undone them all) but I think I've undone two at least.

Daddy walks ups to us with two babies in his arms. "Oh good, I was looking for you two. Here, take one—more of the crew's here and we're going to need your help."

Michael and I have no other choice than to accept the babies Daddy's handing out. "Hiya little June bug," I say.

Michael squints at May and I laugh, that's the Michael I know. "Their diaper bag is inside near the front door if you need anything. More kids will be here soon, I need you to handle that for me Dean Bean, think you can be me for a few hours?"

I look over to Michael who for once, is paying attention to something other than me. His stress levels have moved up the smallest of notches after having been given a little life to look after, but I think I know how to ease that and I can't wait to try. "Yeah, Daddy. You bet I can be you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is I, I am back. I went on a mini-hiatus and also on a trip to somewhere fabulous with fabulous people who some of you might know ;) 
> 
> I have another chapter to post tonight for this story, the companion to this chapter, which was one chapter but I sneakily cut in two. First, I'm off to have a nice bath. I read today that people used to bathe once a year, in May. I don't know if that's true, but I feel lucky that I can have a bath once a day.


	38. Here, Have Some Colts

The Colt storm blows in and doing my best to help, I take on eleven kids—I'd say that's Daddy worthy. Of course, the older Colt cousins have fucked off with promises to show up later. Right. They just know better I bet. In addition to the babies, May and June, we've got Annie (five) and Cassy (one) from Auntie Louisa's bunch, but I also stole Michelle (thirteen) and Jessica (thirteen) from Auntie Louisa's broad to help. We've also got Ansel (nine), Thomas (seven) and Nancy (three) from Auntie Caroline, as well as Dally jr. (three), Julie (five) and Emmy-Lou (one), Uncle Hunter's kids. It's a full house.

"I want money for this for sure, Dean," Ansel says.

"I don't think so Ansel Colt. You don't get paid for helpin' family—you can help us or have a spanking." Bet no one ever thought they'd see me say that, huh? I'll do it too, when I'm in Daddy mode.

She pouts. "I could still tell you know." She means about the Michael kissing.

"You go right ahead and I'll tell Nan you blackmailed me _and_ demanded money for helpin'. What do you think she'd say about that?"

That halts all further arguments. Not that I'd want to be told on for kissing Michael in the hallways, but she's nine and not old enough to know to call my bluff. "That's impressive," Michael says bouncing Dally jr. on his hip. He won't admit it, but I think he's got a favorite. The twins went down nicely for a nap and I have Jess and Shelly on the one year olds. Ansel and Fredrick are more than old enough to keep Julie, Annie and Nancy busy with my watchful eye and Thomas chills with them.

"What's impressive?"

"You."

I blush. I feel like Michael and I are falling in love again. "It's nothing."

The horse and cart, otherwise known as Uncle Chris and Uncle Dal, carry a Jake down the stairs—a pissed off looking Jake—who they set on the couch. "Want a wasp?" Uncle Chris asks me.

"Not particularly."

Uncle Dal moves over to the door where his crutches have been stored and returns with them. "You want to try these, Jakey?"

"Not particularly," he says in my direction. Did I offend him?

Uncle Dal runs a hand through his hair, he looks stressed and hey, I think I'm getting pretty good at this soothe the tops game. I can figure out pretty quick that he's thinking he should take grouchy Jake home, but he knows how much help the Colt pack needs and doesn't want to abandon them. "Here Uncle Dally, my hands are baby free at the moment, I can take in one more." He lets me take the crutches from him. "How about you two go'on out to help the rest? We'll take care of Jake."

"Would you half pint? Thanks. I don't think he wants us around right now." Uncle Dal's breaking my heart. I'm going to knock Jake six ways to Tuesday.

"Thanks, Dean," Uncle Chris says, giving me that Winchester look of pride I'm a sucker for. "Come get _me_ if you need anything."

I recognize the code in his sentence. "I will, sir."

Soon as they leave, I tear into Jake. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Aren't you the favorite pet?"

"No you don't, Sur. You're not derailing me with insults. I've had enough of your whining and feeling sorry for yourself."

"Blah, blah, blah. You sound just like them."

"I doubt they said the line about whining."

"Close enough. Look, can y'all just leave me alone? That means you too angel-dick."

Michael advances on him trying to hand me little Dally. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—enough! Michael, you're scaring little Dally. And Jake, watch your language in front of the kids."

"Mycle?" sniff, "wasn't we gonna play?"

"Yes, yes. C'mon, let's go see if there's some juice for you, how's that?"

Mini-Dal, who's willing to do whatever Michael says, nods like some wise old thing and Michael takes him into the kitchen. "That one really called Dallas?"

"Yeah, why do you care?"

"Don't. But I would like somethin' t'eat and looks like it's you who's been nominated to doin' that for me."

"I'm not doing squat for you Jake, 'till you ask nicely."

His jaw drops. "They said you had to."

"They'll understand if I don't hop to it without so much as a please. But I'll make you a deal, I'll go get you something to eat, despite being freakin' busy, if you make sure no one kills themselves while I go get the babies." I can hear them both stirring.

"How'my supposed to do that?"

"Trust in the well oiled machine that is Colt, you'll be fine."

"I'm not stupid—Colt's are not well-oiled machines, more like machines with a few ruined gaskets, fluid flowing everywhere."

Huh. So he's noticed some stuff. "Fine, it could all go to hell. Here's Uncle Dal's guitar just in case—music soothes the savage beast."

I grab the one from behind the couch (I think Uncle Dal has like three of these things around here) and Jake takes it looking just as much three as mini-Dal did, plucking at the strings miserably. Okay, fuck. I kinda feel sorry for him. What if I… oh god, what if I lost one of my parents, even just one, or Uncle Dal, Uncle Chris… anyone and then the only thing that fucking kept me going, hunting, I couldn't even do because I got all fucked up. Yeah, I feel for the dude, but he will eventually have to stop treating people like assholes and I think I'm just the person.

I'm quick grabbing the babies—I don’t actually trust Jake with my cousins—looping them both around me like Daddy does. Jake's still plucking aimlessly when I get back, but no one's bleeding. On impulse, I give him a baby. "Here. You take June bug, she spits up less."

"Jesus Christ, how many kids are there?" That's all he says though and I'm surprised at the lack of complaining about being handed a baby.

"Honestly? I couldn't give you a total right now. But the big cousins are hopefully getting their way—assholes—they left us high and dry." Something I just said, Jake liked. I know it by the way some of his anger leaves him, but I don't know what it was. He likes the baby.

"Hi June bug, ew, you're drooly as fuck, but you sure are cute."

Michael returns with Dally jr. and juice. I don't think lil' Dal's letting him go anytime soon. May starts to fuss, so I bounce her. "Think you two can not kill each other while I head to the kitchen for a minute?"

"I won't kill him," Michael says with a kiss for me. "Can you get me one of those muffins your nan makes, please?"

"Why didn't you get one while you were in there?"

"Because then I would have to deal with being called Corn Muffin, or something else ridiculous."

I laugh. "Okay."

"Dean? Could you get us some stuff too?" Jess asks.

"Yeah, if you're gonna make us help you, you should feed us," Ansel says.

"All right, all right." I head into the kitchen and thank God Uncle Dal's there. "Uncle Dal, you busy?"

"I always got time for you half pint."

He and I fix the munchkins snacks and bottles for the little ones. "You mind helping me carry it in Uncle Dal?"

"Maybe I should take her and you bring it in. I promised Jake we'd leave him be for a bit."

I don't like that. Uncle Dal's not being Uncle Dal. "No way Uncle Dal. You bring in the stuff—show Jake who's boss."

He laughs. "That's not always the best way, Dean."

"Then someone should tell Papa that, 'cause I don't think he knows other ways."

"True. Okay, you've convinced me." And I'm glad I have. When we return, Jake's smiling with June in his lap, Uncle Dal's guitar in front of them both, showing her how to pluck strings even if she's more interested in trying to get the guitar's neck in her mouth.

Uncle Dal gives me a proud smile. "How'd you do that half pint?"

"I didn't do anything Uncle Dal, 'cept tell him to smarten up."

Jake's smile brightens when Dallas sets the large tray down on the table. All the kids dive for it and I help hand out bottles to the one year olds, taking one for May. Since Dallas Jr. already has his juice, Michael helps himself to a muffin. "Thanks Dallas," Jake says. "I'm famished, you mind passing me that bottle for this sweetheart here before she eats your guitar?"

Uncle Dal hands him the bottle and Jake pops into June in like he's done it before. "C'we get one?" Jake asks Dal making him smile more, if that's possible. "I think she likes me. This place is crawling with them, bet they'll never notice one missing."

Uncle Dal stays to help us feed everyone and finally, the older Colt cousins show their fine faces. "Took you guys long enough, jerks," I say.

"Sorry, Dean," Rory says.

"Here, gimmie one." That's Anderson.

"This is our Jake," Uncle Dal says pressing his large Uncle Dal hands down on Jake's shoulders. Some of the cousins know him from the party he weaseled his way into, but it's important to Uncle Dal to introduce him again.

It's a sweet thing watching Uncle Dal go through introductions to Jake like Jake is already his own. I hope he at least keeps in touch when he leaves and also, leaves after the wedding—Uncle Dal's gonna be devastated. Uncle Chris too.

Jake's charming as hell and even let's Uncle Dal fuss with his hair.

"Yeah, I remember you from the party. Didn't you come with Jesse or Beau or someone?" Anderson asks sitting down beside him, bouncing Emmy-Lou gently in his lap. Uncle Dal chooses then to make his exit.

"Thanks Dean," he says to me as he walks past.

I check on everybody, telling Ansel, Thomas and Fredrick they can go play now that I've got more help, which they're happy to do this time, despite Ansel's obsession with hanging out with the big kids—she knows when to scram. All the big cousins naturally take little ones, 'till there aren't any left (someone's even taken May from me, but Dally won't leave his Michael—I've totally got competition) and we decide to trek outside.

"You want me to get your cart and horse? Or you want to try crutches?" I ask Jake.

He passes June to someone and waits 'till everyone else has already begun to head out of the living room to ask, "Will you help me? I can't rely on them forever."

"Sure. You used these before?"

"Not for a long time and not for long. I fucking hate these things."

I help him stand, Michael's remained behind with us to watch the proceedings (probably thinking he'll get entertainment); Dally's conned him into playing with cars on the floor. "I'm the big one Mycle! I can smash you like this. Vroom. Vroom!"

"You think so do you?"

Dally jr. laughs thinking everything Michael does is funny. He's right. Mostly.

"Dean, you can oogle your boyfriend later, the crutches."

I reach for them and he slings them under his armpits. I wince at him. "How's the leg?"

"Doesn't feel great, but I can manage."

Michael picks up Dally, "Hey!" and his cars, "Where we goin'?" and we head out. Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris descend pretty quick.

"Hey, whoa there cowboy, that's far enough, have a seat," Uncle Chris says ready with a chair. The backyard is flush with Colts; I see Daddy holding a clip board, giving orders and Nana's feeding people. Granddaddy's nowhere to be found, knowing getting the heck out of here is the best place to be. Come to think of it, I don't see Grampa Winchester (who stopped by to say hi earlier) but Gramma Winchester's over with Auntie Caroline, nor do I see Papa anywhere.

"I'm sitting. I though you wanted me to crutch around?" With a little help, Jake slinks into the chair.

"Well that's plenty."

"I went from the living room to here."

"And I say good enough for now."

"Fine. Should I notify you before I gotta pee?"

"Watch this," Uncle Dal says to Uncle Chris, swiping June from Rory and plopping her on Jake's lap. "How to turn Jake from a hornet into a teddy bear."

It's true. Jake can't help himself; June lights him up. "You miss me darlin'?"

"Well I'll be. Think Lily-Faye would mind if we stole her?"

"S'what I was sayin'," Jake agrees with Chris. As if just remembering, Chris drops the hat on Jake's head. "We stayin' for dinner?" Jake asks anxiously. Uncle Chris mentioned something earlier about it being Jake's idea to come here, I almost didn't believe it, but now I'm hearing with my own ears.

"What'cha thinkin' Dals?"

"Dinner's soon, even though Mama's feedin' everyone enough now, but then we're leavin' straight after, no complainin' Jake Travis—you need your rest."

"Yes, sir."

I feel like I have to clean out my ears, 'cuz did I hear that right? I couldn't have had that much of an impact on him. He's up to something and I intend to find out. For now, I head off to where Michael's followed Dally, who's leading him away by the hand in hopes of steering clear of Daddy and another job—being Daddy for a few hours is 'zausting.

**

"You know, I could've stayed for the campfire," Jake complains.

"We know honey, but sleep is the best medicine," I tell him.

"We stayed the other night."

"Sure did and we'll stay again—it's about balance my friend."

Chris pops out from 'Jake's' room. "S'all ready for you, Jakey."

Jake's not having any of our cheer, he glares at us both, pushing past Chris on his crutches, shutting the door hard, a clear sign to stay away. Chris begins to storm in after him, I grab his arm, stopping him. "Leave him be Chris."

"He needs a good spanking."

I can't deny that, if he wasn't already in pain, I would have spanked him by now. "I'll go in and talk to him."

"Fine, but you can tell him he's not going anywhere tomorrow with this attitude."

I pull him to me, taking the Chesney hat off him and placing it on its final resting place for the night, the hook by the front door, then kiss the blazes out of him. "He just needs a baby and Dean, you wanna rustle us up either of those?"

"Do you want one of those? A baby? A teen?" I'm sure all the stuff with Jake's making Chris think of us raising a family, just as much as it is me.

"I want…" My eyes look to Jake's room without me wanting them to. "I'm good with whatever you want Chris."

"I'm afraid you're wantin' somethin' you can't have Dals."

"I got you didn't I?"

"You always had me though."

"And look how stubborn you were, Jake's got nothing on you." I kiss him once more and head to Jake's room

I knock, he doesn't answer, no surprise there, but I'm not leaving him alone. "Jake, I'm coming in, so if you're not decent—"

"—You seen me not decent plenty at the hospital, didn't care then."

Still awake then. I enter. He's lying on the bed, on top of the covers that are pulled back, looking like he struggled getting into the position he's in now, too fed up to bring the covers up around him. The lights are off, one crutch thrown across the room, the strewn by his bedside. I pick up the thrown crutch on my way in. "If you just came in to lecture me, you can see yourself right back out. I ain't in the mood."

I flick on the bedside light, he covers the startling brightness to his eyes, with his forearm. "May I?" I ask, ignoring his terrible mood, the one that is a tantrum, despite the other stuff that _is_ going on in his head. He shrugs trying to indicated he doesn't care one way or the other. But I know that's BS. Careful not to hurt him, knowing just how to maneuver his injured leg, I get him undressed and into pajamas then tucked into bed.

"I'm not staying Dallas," he says.

"I know. I do have a Ph.D. in Psychology. Just because I don't push people to call me Doctor Colt, doesn’t mean, the knowledge fell out of my head—you're textbook."

"Oh yeah? Tell me then."

"Okay, but you gotta close you're eyes. You really should be resting sweetheart." I make myself comfortable on the other side of the bed and start running fingers through his hair that relax him. He doesn't argue or fight me on it, he doesn't usually when were alone and I can tell he enjoys the tenderness.

"You're grieving."

He pops an eye open. "Don't take a Ph.D to sort that out, I hope."

"Jake."

"Fine." He closes his eye.

"You're grieving, so you're angry and I get it—I can't imagine losing my daddy."

"He was a good Dad you know."

"Don't doubt it."

"And if you say somethin' stupid, like you think, I think you'll try to replace him and can't, I'm takin' away your Ph.D."

That makes me laugh. I should be telling him off for that, but whenever's he like that, he's too… adorable. When he wants to, he seems to know how to use _just_ the right amount of cheek with humor. "I wasn't. I think what's harder for you, is that your like our parenting style better, even if you might not like us better. You feel guilty and that's what makes you miss him even more—you hate that you like being here and at least like us a little. It's some of the reason you're so pissy all the time."

"All 'a that's a bit presumptuous. Don't you think?"

"Like a book Jake Travis. A book."

"Okay fine. So it's nice here. Y'all are so, _nice._ It grates on my nerves at the same time it's… nice."

My smile remains big. "Close your eyes, I said."

He huffs. "I'm gonna fall asleep."

"That's the idea. And speaking of ideas, get it out of your head that you can make us hate you—I know that's what you're angling for—we like you too, a whole lot and it ain't gonna work. No, I don't want you to go, but I know you're boltin' soon as you can. I can only hope you'll stay 'till you're healed. Please say you'll at least stay 'till you can walk?"

He doesn't answer and for a second, I think he's asleep, or at least pretending to be 'till he says, "You've got my drugs on lockdown. Can't get very far without them can I? And I can barely crutch without needing to sit down."

"I want an answer Jake. A real one."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm stayin' 'till it heals, but them I'm gone. I don't want you and Chris gettin' too attached," he says like we're asking him if we can look after someone's puppy while they go away.

"Don't you worry about us. We'll worry about you thank you very much. It's too late anyway, we're attached. You're just gonna have to live with that, sunshine. And maybe at least call us on Christmas and for your birthday."

"All visitation rights will be handled via my lawyer thanks." His voice is starting to sound a whole lot sleepier.

"Christmas _and_ your birthday Jake, or you'll have two very unimpressed not-parents to deal with when you do come by, which we both know you will."

"All right, all right, Christmas and my damn birthday, jus' soon as I get a new cell phone, that demon—"

"We know, Chris is already on it."

"He is?" His voice is getting fainter.

"Are you that surprised? You're a hunter, I'm sure you've learned a thing or two about Winchesters by now. They like to keep everyone accounted for."

"Mmmh." He's finally starting to fall asleep. Those drugs make him drowsy, but naturally, he fights them good, like he fights everything and manages to keep them from knocking him out when he tries.

I stay a few more minutes. I'm about to go, but he feels me pulling my hand away, latching onto it like he's preventing me knifing him. "You can keep your Ph.D Dr. Colt, but you were wrong about one thing. I don't like you guys a little."

He lets his hazel eyes stare into my Colt Blues then he lets go of my hand and closes his eyes again.


	39. Colt Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned on never being _this_ author ----- > Does Not Update in Forever, but here I am. *Hangs head in shame*
> 
> I took an unintentional hiatus, as I worked on a book project, which I thought was going to take no time at all, but turns out, Mock should NEVER use the phrase, "How hard can it be?" Except I still say that all the time. 
> 
> Sadly, this project is not done and thus, updates are going to be slow, BUT I AM STILL HERE AND I MISS EVERYONE. 
> 
> Tonight, after dinner, I will go around and actually answer comments (sorry) and emails (also sorry) and all else. In the New Year, I plan to update regularly again and finish all my stories--I have some new ones I want to add to the queue! 
> 
> I love you all dearly and hope you're still out there... Mock could really use some love at this time <3 Even though I know I've been a bad, BAD author. 
> 
> Also, it has come to my attention that perhaps chapters 32 and 34 of this story were missed back when all the fuss with AO3 was happening (not getting update notifications) so make sure you've read as those were important chapters. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit of an intermission between all the BIG stuff happening next. 
> 
> May the Force be with BOTH Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds. The world will miss them both dearly.

We're both shirtless. Cas is still asleep and I enjoy a rare moment of quiet, tracing my fingers over Cas's bare skin. I like to admire him and think about us—I don’t even remember life before I knew Cas and I wouldn't want to. I love reminiscing about our youth, growing up together. Cas helped me learn to ride a bike, instruction I used to help all my siblings. Cas and I used to make out in the barn when we could steal away and I remember what he used to look like at sixteen when he'd laugh in the sunshine. Sometimes I wish I could go back, just for a day. I love my life now too, but now and again, I miss those days.

Then I start thinking about when Dean was little—I can't decide which days I miss more. I'd go back in time there too. Cas in his thirties, Dean our surly little boy getting into mischief with Tigger. I love remembering the little things, like Cas feeding him in the morning, or letting Dean chase him in the yard; both of them with pure glee on their faces.

I don't even mind recalling some of the sadder times, when Cas would go away and Dean would cry for him—it's because of how much Dean loves his papa and that always makes me happy. Of course, accompanying those times, are Cas returning home and Dean running to him, clinging to him; then me getting my turn with plenty of tears both happy and bereaved to let Cas know how much we missed him.

"Are you getting nostalgic, Baby?" Cas says sleepily. I always get this way around a birthday, anyone's birthday.

"A little. Have you spoken with Dean yet?"

"Haven't had the chance in all the mayhem, I may save it 'till we've moved to Winchester Palace." He pulls me down on top of him and begins threading fingers through my hair. "I've got two eyes on him though."

"I know you do, Cassy." Cas likes to make sure I know he's taking care of our boy—as if I don't know that by now.

"Speaking of Winchester Palace, Christian and I are going there today; I'd like you to accompany me."

He's not really asking. "Of course, Cas. I guess that means Dean and Michael, too?"

He's quiet for a moment. "I thought I'd leave them here, under someone's supervision of course, but time to themselves may be warranted given the circumstances."

I almost have a heart attack. "What circumstances are those?" I say wryly.

"The whole, old Dean is back thing—if it were you, that's what I would want."

I barely know what to say. "But he's not me, he's your little boy."

"You're right, cancel the whole idea, they come with us."

I laugh. "I'm just shocked Cas. I think it's a fine idea." I hug him tighter; he's really trying to let Michael take lead with Dean. A very small amount, but still. "You know I don't like him growing up anymore than you do."

He starts rubbing my back, kissing the top of my head. "I really don't. If I could find a way to freeze time, I would." His lips smile into my hair. "I'll leave them then, but I will strike the fear of God into the angel before I go."

Of course that has different meaning to Michael, but I get how Cas means it.

"What are we doing at your parent's house today anyway?"

"I'm not sure myself. It's disguised as lunch, but my guess is Father just wants to check up on his children."

"You have cell phones for that, Cas."

"You know him though. When he worries, he's got to see us in person. I think he mostly wants to see Chris and I. Clarabelle's been at the house already."

Like Father; like son. "Then what do you need me for?"

"I always need you Sam. Besides, selfishly, I want to hang with you today, Baby. I was thinking about taking you to that rock of ours after we leave my parent's house."

I remember that rock. That rock saw a lot of us making out. "I'd like that," I say, moving my hand toward the waistband of his pajama pants. We fell asleep in our PJ's, too exhausted for sex with all the on goings, but also, sometimes we do that for Dean's benefit even though he's known from a young age that wandering into our room could mean naked daddies.

He grabs my wrist, flipping me so I end up on my back, with him over top of me and wrists pinned above my head. He's about to lean in for a kiss and I know the look in Cas's eyes, he plans on ravaging me, but there's a knock at the door. "Daddy? Are you two up? There's no breakfast."

These are the only times I wish I hadn't babied Dean as much as I did and still do. But, alas, a Daddy's work is never done. "This is your fault," Cas says to me.

"I know. Coming Dean—be there in a sec!"

"Is the coast clear? Can I come in?"

I look to Cas, I can't tell him no. "C'mon in, Dean," Cas says, climbing off of me—we've stopped keeping track of how many times our son has cockblocked us. We both sit up. Dean bounds in, in his pajama pants and a t-shirt and jumps up on the bed with us. Cas opens his arms for him, with a big smile. He knows as well as I do, his boy is not innocent, but to Cas, Dean will always be 'Papa's little boy,' the one he spoils to no end. "Why isn't Nana up to make you breakfast?"

Dean cuddles into Papa. "I think her and Grandaddy are… you know," he says widening his eyes.

Yeah, my parents probably are having sex. You don't get the amount of kids they have without mating like bunnies. Dean probably thinks we don't anymore, or denies it to the point he's convinced himself it's true. Cas rolls his eyes at Dean, over his head, so only I can see. "You can't make yourself breakfast, young man?" Cas asks.

"I could, Papa," he says squishing himself further into Cas. "But Daddy puts so much love into his food."

Now I roll my eyes. "Lordy bee, Dean Daniel." But I'm already up to find a shirt, he's giggling loving how much he knows he can manipulate me. "You're gonna help me though, mister. Come."

"But I'm so cozy with Papa," he whines and yeah, the two do look pretty snuggly. "Can't Michael help you?"

Cas is smirking at me, he knows I'm going to cave. I slip a faded red t-shirt over my head and sigh at my wayward, but very adorable son. "Okay, I'll grab Michael."  
"Thanks Daddy!"

**

Somehow, Jake convinced Uncle Dal to let him to "nap" outside on a outdoor lounge chair. He's spread out long, Uncle Dal's Kenny Chesney hat over his face, his booted foot (Uncle Dal told him if he was laying out here, he was wearing the boot and imagine my surprise when he barely fought back) resting on the lounger, his other bent, sole of his foot flat on the chair, a hand on the hat, the other hanging off into the grass.

Where am I? Not far from him, near the barn, with plans of readying a horse for a ride. I had to get out of the house. Everyone's driving me bonkers. I know they're trying not to worry about Old Dean who's taken up residence in my conscious brain again and Daddy rattled off some speech about them accepting him because he's me and they love all of me, but no one's doing that great a job yet and I need a fucking breather from all of their 'acceptance'. Daddy keeps using phrases like, "are you sure, baby?" Michael thinks I'm going to implode any minute (he stares at me when he doesn't think I'm looking and when I do turn to look at him, he doesn't bother to look away, because _he's_ far away in his mind and it takes me a few times calling him to get his attention) and Papa's being so strict, like _so_ strict. I'm pretty sure he's "letting old Dean know" who's head honcho in Winchester Clan—as if there's ever any doubt.

While Uncle Dal is mostly distracted with Jake (thank Christ) he still made time to give me the fifth degree before I came out here, and when I started being a little sassy, Uncle Chris (not that he needed to, Uncle Dal was doing just fine on his own) reminded me why Winchesters don't need to raise their voices and they can still make you feeling like begging forgiveness.

Jake, the little suck, enjoyed every fucking minute of that circus. I got stuck promising to watch him, which means I can't even ride too far, which is why I saddled up Damian, Granddaddy Colt's black Stallion—he's a rough ride, but that's what I want, short and taxing. I'm just mounting when Jake takes the hat off his face. "Hey, I told you to tell me when you were going. I wanna come."

"Fat fucking chance. Uncle Dal would kill me."

"I care about that why?"

"Didn't think you did. I do. Fuck off Jake."

I'm atop the horse now. Jake's fussing is making Damien restless. "Be good while I'm gone and maybe I'll get you a juice box though," I tell him and yeah I'm being a jackass. "And some of those little goldfish crackers." He doesn't know Daddy and the rest of the Colts think those things are the devil and that they wouldn't come a mile of this place.

"You know, I bet I could rat you out for somethin' if you wanna be a little dick weasel."

"Me?" I say, grabbing the reigns. Damien's raring to go. "I've been Papa's little angel," how can I not be with all the strictness? "there's nothing to tell on me for."

He shrugs. "I'm sure I could find something."

Or make something up, he means. He's so sure of himself, that scares me a bit, but I stir up some false bravado. "Whatever. Just fucking sit there and I'll be back." He probably doesn't deserve me taking my bad mood out on him, but it's become what we are to each other—he does it to me too, it's his turn.

I behave myself and don't go far. I'm on a limited access plan. We're _still_ grounded, but thankfully, Grandaddy and Nana have a sizeable property and Papa's allowed me that much. I think he could tell I was getting restless and needed to blow off some steam. I spend my time thinking about things.

There's a Brad I still need to break up with and get spanked by, but all that seems minor, at least for the moment with Old Dean kicking around upstairs. I'm starting to realize what a fucking prick Old Dean was. And I know Daddy's on about the "he's you too Dean" stuff, but I'm not buying that yet. Right now he feels like an interloper. A quiet interloper who won't fucking talk to me when I want him to, but I can tell he's there.

I spend another half hour gallivanting around the property then head back to Jake. When I return, he's fucking vanished. "Jake. Jake!" Asshole. Bet he went inside and ratted me out for something made up. I head into the barn, trying to imagine what he dreamt up and lead Damien into his stall with plans of removing his saddle and brushing him down, when out of nowhere, Jake lands from the sky (otherwise known as the hayloft above) and ends up on Damien. I almost get run over, as Jake snaps the reigns and heads out of the barn.

"Hiya!'

"Dammit! Jake!"

I run out of the barn, but I'm eating their dust, running all the way up to the house. Jake and Damien pass by Uncle Dal; I stop when I get to where Uncle Dally is and lean over with my hands on my thighs catching my breath. I'm in good shape from hockey, but I ran fucking fast trying to catch up with a damn horse. "Dean. What the…? Jake!" Uncle Dal doesn't bother running after Jake, since his bellow already has him turning around.

Jake looks big atop the horse and he must feel it to, because he's laughing, but I have never seen Uncle Dal look this unimpressed and that's saying something—this tops the time I thought I could take my car out, when my parents were out. It had been previously confiscated by Papa, but I idiotically thought Uncle Dal would let it slide. I was so young and stupid then; oh how I've grown. Uncle Dal's eyes look like thunder storms and Jake finally looks nervous after enduring several terrifying seconds of his stare down. Even I feel the effects. "Oh, come on, I was just having fun," Jake tries.

"One day, you're gonna be all healed up and I am gonna spank you for this Jake Travis. My memory is long. For now, you're coming straight inside. Go put the horse back, we'll be behind you."

We? Why am I stuck helping? "Uh, maybe I should go find Michael," I say as Jake gallops off and it's just Uncle Dal and I.

"I was just hoping to chat with my favorite nephew. I've been a little preoccupied and haven't had the chance to really talk to you about, Dean."

He means old Dean and has he already forgotten the chat he had with me over that not an hour ago? I follow him knowing I'm not getting out of this conversation; I get the sense they're going to repeatedly chat with me about Old Dean until they feel better about it—nothing ever seems 'enough.' "What do you wanna know," _this time,_ "Uncle Dal?"

"What's he doing in there?"

"Not much, let me tell you. Drinking a beer?" I don't know what to tell people about Old Dean, other than what I already have, but they keep asking me, like they're keeping tabs on him—probably are. Maybe they should.

"Sorry Half Pint. We're all on your case, but we just worry about you."

"I know Uncle Dal."

As we approach the barn, Uncle Dal grabs Jake's abandoned crutches and sets his eyes on stun again. Jake's climbing off the horse, landing on his good leg and Uncle Dal is there to give him his crutches and several firm swats to his ass. "Hey!"

"That didn't hurt. It's less than you deserve."

And I know from past experience how not fun it is to get even just a few swats in front of company. Sometimes, you don't even need the spanking that usually follows.

"March, or uh, crutch. Up to the house and straight into bed."

Wow, I've never seen Uncle Dal so austere, he must be really worried about Jake; I wish Jake would take all of their mollycoddling seriously. He's audacious enough to wink as he crutches by me, still smug as fuck.

I do what needs to be done for Damien quickly, because now, I don't want to miss the show with Dallas, Chris and Jake and run up to the house after them. There's a whole lot of lecturing going on in the kitchen, with Jake sitting at the table and Dally and Chris standing over him, like two parents would their wayward teen—I'm reminded of personal experiences. Jake's lost his cocky demeanor and he looks to me (of all people) for help. I don't feel sorry for him and I think I'm going to grab juice and strike out on a 'find Michael' mission, but noooo. "Dean, would you be able to help your uncle Dallas out?" Uncle Chris says.

As a rule, saying no to a Winchester is a bad idea. "Yes, sir."

"Thanks. I have somewhere to be." He kisses Dallas slow then turns to Jake. "You behave yourself. One more incident like this and I'm happy to be the one who stays holed up in my apartment with you."

"I already said I was sorry."

"Yeah, 'till the next time," Uncle Chris says fondly, ruffling Jake's hair as he takes the hat back.

"Well… where you goin'?" Jake asks, concerned and it's almost accusatory.

Uncle Chris laughs. "To see _my_ Daddy. I'm coming back and you're going upstairs for the afternoon."

"Can't I come with you, instead?"

Uncle Chris does give a look I recognize to Uncle Dal; it says, should I?

"No Jake," Uncle Dal decides. "In case you missed that part of the lecture, you _are_ in trouble. Upstairs, let's go. Dean, will you bring water and juice up, please?"

"Yes, sir Uncle Dal."

"Suck up."

"Jake," Uncle Dal scolds.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'."

I do as asked, fetching water and fresh squeezed juice, as Uncle Dal frog marches Jake upstairs without touching him—that takes talent, gotta say. By the time I make it upstairs, Jake is out of his pants and Uncle Dal is helping him climb into bed. Uncle Dal is still pissed, his eyes are hard and he's got that solid look, like Papa gets when he's displeased, but he's also fretting. "Did you jostle anything on that ride? Anything hurt?"

"No. I told you I'm fine."

That earns him another few swats, which is kinda funny in an ironic sort of way, and this time, his ass is a lot barer, having only his thin, cotton boxers for protection and I get to see a real yelp from him. I have to hide my snicker. "Now is not the time to get sassy with me, Sur."

"Ow!" He's actually rubbing. From a few swats? Wimp. "I'm fine, sir."

"Better," Uncle Dal says, helping Jake climb the rest of the way into bed.

"Uh, Uncle Dal, may I go?"

"Yeah. Sorry Half Pint," Jake scowls at the soft tone and nickname Uncle Dal uses with me; I do my best not to smirk, "you can go—uh wait, where you off to?"

Somewhere, that if I'm going to be watched over, at least I can coax sex out of the place. "To find Michael."

"That would be fine, Dean," he says like I was asking permission, except I wasn't. Lordy be!

"Thanks Uncle Dal." I hightail it the fuck out before he changes his mind.

The Colt house is quiet. The party is tomorrow, with the fundraiser on Sunday, tomorrow will be utter mayhem, but today there is a short reprieve. The sound of quiet gives me home-y, nostalgic feels and I'm reminded that we're leaving; moving over to Winchester Headquarters. As much as I always look forward to spending more intimate time with Gramma and Grampa Winchester, I will miss waking up here, with all the cozy smells of Colt. I love my family and miss them when I'm not with them.

Letting go of my morose thoughts, I head to where I know Michael will be: In his room, sorting his suitcase for the eleventh time. The door is ajar, so I creep just inside of it and lean up against the frame (trying to look cool), knowing he's heard me, but he doesn't look up to acknowledge me yet, busy adding a dress shirt he's just refolded to the pile. I see loose, white threads sticking out from under a pile of crisp-ironed slacks. I laugh and I don't let him get away with it. "Michael, are you taking the jeans Nana Colt lent you?"

He answers, by yanking me inside by the wrist and closing the door (despite Daddy's firm, no closed doors in this house rule) and slams me against wall, somehow managing to be quiet. His lips close over mine and he pulls me into a deep kiss, soft tongue sinks into mine and they wrap together. We play a decent game of tonsil hockey, before he releases me and smiles, that's right, fucking smiles down at me. "Are you behaving yourself?" _That's_ the Michael I know and love.

"Always."

"I think not. You look like you're up to trouble."

"Me? I've been helping Uncle Dal with Jake." I leave out everything about horses and escapes and pretty much anything that will freak him out.

That deters him zero. "I still have some Michael fun spankings to collect on," he says casually.

"Yeah, well one of them was yesterday."

"That was not a Michael fun spanking, there was a very real purpose for that one."

"Like what, I breathed?"

He smirks. "If it makes you feel better. I have two left, for the bet you lost and I'm collecting one now."

"People will hear."

"No one is here."

"Not true—Uncle Dal and Jake."

He rolls his eyes, but he's already leading me over to the bed. "As if they count and besides, they're on the other side of the house."

"Where's Papa? Daddy?"

"They all went to the Winchester's, your grandparents went as well—I'm in charge."

"Uh, technically _you're_ not—Uncle Dal's in charge."

Undeterred, he pulls me over his knee and he starts spanking me over my jeans. It's actually a nice pace, an enjoyable pace. I'm not in trouble for anything—yeah that happens sometimes—and there's just the rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound of Michael's hand meeting my ass. "I am in charge of you Dean. Like it or not."

That makes me smile, yeah, even with him spanking my ass and the swats getting harder, harder, _harder!_ "Ow! Fuck!"

He stops to rub. "You enjoying yourself?" I ask him.

"I believe that is the point," he says, gleefully.

"I thought you didn't like hurting me?"

"This is not the same as hurting. You're going to feel it—if you didn't, what fun would that be?"

I almost laugh. I'm kind of enjoying his enjoyment, even if his kind of enjoyment can be felt soundly on my ass. He spends a long time warming my ass through my jeans and my whole ass is warm, literally and figuratively. He helps me up. "Well that was great, nice knowing you," I say with no actual hope that he's done, not with the look of sheer delight on his face.

"In the front pocket of my suitcase, go get it."

"What? No. You brought that whippy little, asshole cane?"

"Of course I did."

"And you really want me wrecking your stellar, suitcase fold-job to get it?"

"Disrupt my folding and this will turn into a real spanking."

"Okay, fine. Jeez." I can't begrudge him though. As much as I complain and whine and complain some more, I don't mind these kind of spankings, well, except when they fucking smart. But even then, it's not the end of the world and I may even, well, so long as I'm not in trouble, I may even like these Michael fun spankings. Not that I'm ever telling Michael that, but seeing him have this much fun is fun in and of itself. I carefully retrieve Michael's funstick and present it to him.

He allows me to continue to hold it until he's got my jeans undone and pulled down, along with my boxers. "Wow, this is already so colorful," Michael comments, admiring his "handy" work.

"Yeah. You did that."

He pulls me over his lap and starts in spanking again, this time the spanks are sharper without the muffling from any clothes and they seem to echo in such a way, that the whole world can hear them. When Michael picks up the pace and the intensity, I have to cross my foot over my calve and bite my lip. I start panting a little, like I've been running. "Fuck! Ow, ow… Ow!"

My cries egg him on. He continues spanking my ass with his hand, as I continue to try to alleviate the sting in various ways, until finally he gives me a break. "Those are fantastic sounds, Duck," Michael says and I can tell he's smiling from above me.

"Are we done?" I ask, knowing we're not even close.

"Hand me my toy. Please."

"Ooh! C'mon!" They're token protests at best. Spankings are so much different when I'm not in trouble for anything. Truth be told, I'm kind of enjoying Michael's excitement, but I'm not going to tell him that. I hand him the whippy little rod.

Once it's in his hot little hands, he rubs it across my very warm ass and tap, tap, taps it. Then, _whack._ "Ow, Jesus fuck Michael." Okay, that one was not fun.

"I had to make sure it worked, wouldn't want you falling asleep down there."

From there it's a series of whack, whack, _whack!_ "Fuck!" And _Whack! Whack! Whack!_ and whack… whack… whack… Michael varies the pace and the intensity, wielding his frigging whippy stick like a pro for what feels like all god damn afternoon, while I squirm and yelp over his lap, trying to find some method of exercising the sting. By the time he's finally finished, I know there isn't one. My ass is warm and swollen and I'm _dying_ to see how red it is (checking is half the fucking fun of spanking).

Michael's quiet above me as he traces the lines of my ass, the one that feels like the sun. "I like this Dean," he says finally.

"Yeah, I know Captain Obvious."

"No. I really fucking like this."

"That's news that surprises no one Michael."

"Well it surprises me. I don't like it when you're hurt. Not. At. All."

"Then quit digging your fingers into my ass."

"Like the other night," he carries on, "I wanted to disembowel myself for what I did to you." He smoothes a hand over the place where the 'bruise' he left on my hip from that night was, unable to let it go.

I sigh heavily. "Michael… I _like_ having that kinda stuff you know, no matter how I get them. I like your marks on me."

He starts spanking me again, but this time sans lap-cane. With his hand. "You can have them like this, not like that, understand?"

"Yes, sir! Fucking worrywart," I mutter, which turns the spanking from fun, light swats; to intense, hard spanks. "Okay! Okay!"

Michael stops spanking and starts tracing my ass again, but this time, his finger dips into the crack of my ass. "They left us all alone, Dean."

"Mmmm… yeah, what's with that? I thought we, 'had to be under supervision at all times?' The whole being punished thing." Maybe Papa does spoil me after all.

"Guess they underestimated how much attention your uncle would give to the hooligan." He stands me up and helps me out of my jeans and boxers. Then stands to remove his shirt, tossing it on the floor. I have to stare at him. Michael has the best body. It's perfect to me. He's lean in all the right places, while he's still got a wide shoulder girdle and cheese grater abs, the kind that are serrated down the sides of his torso. He looks down at me with sultry, dark eyes, his eyebrows creasing together slightly like he's trying to decide between six different ways he wants to kiss me then he swoops in, latching onto my lips.

I go pliant and let him take me, his hand slides across my jaw, gripping it, kissing me for all he's worth, which to me is a lot. He's everything. I reach for the waistband of his jeans, but he snatches my wrist. "No." He shakes his head, pulling his lips off mine and sinks to his knees, he's still got the same devilish look on his face.

I laugh. "Then why did you take your shirt off?"

"So you could enjoy the view."

Fucker. He knows how hot he is. I don't even get to smile at him. He swallows down my cock in one go, gliding his tongue down to the base. I sink my hands into his hair, he sucks hard and I have to cant my hips forward, "fuck, baby," as he continues to suck and pull.

I've had my cock sucked by a lot of people, yes already, I've been a teen for more years than most people are teens and still, nobody does it better than Michael. He's rough and gentle with the right amounts of holy fucking god. I build and build and build until, "No!"

He pops his mouth off, his signature smirk in place. "You can't be surprised. Since when have I not made you beg during a blow job?" He grabs my ankles and I fall back on the bed.

"There was that one time at the club, you know, where we had to be quick," I recall.

"An oversight on my part."

He swallows my cock again and he spends time, edging me, driving me fucking crazy. "Fuck, Michael. Jesus Christ!"

He pops his mouth off my dick, his eyes narrowed at me, his hair (which long enough I'm surprised Papa hasn't told him to cut it yet) is just this side messy, which makes him look fucking sexy. "Is that how you get me to finish you off?"

I groan. "You're driving me crazy, dude."

Michael abandons my cock and climbs up the bed, so he's over top of me. He looks like a hawk about to eat its prey. "I am not _dude._ I loathe that term."

Um, yeah. I fucking know that. My face can't hold back any longer and it transforms into pure mischief.

"Dean…"

To get out of trouble, I give him a blast of charm to go with the mischief; it's the secret ingredient to evade trouble, well, too much trouble with any Top.

"I know you think that works, but it doesn't. Call me dude again and pay the consequence."

What just happened there? "Since when did you become so bossy, er, more bossy than usual?"

He leans in to kiss my neck, "Get used to it. You're mine, Dean and if you don't know that by now, well I'll make damned sure you know by the end of this trip."

**

"What are you doing?" Jake asks, a mixture of confused and disdain, clear on his face. I've got paper out and two pens, which I'm winding tape around in a straight line, spaced out from one another juuuust the right amount—there would be five, but the people in my family insist on lines that are several lines long and that just wouldn't work like in the Youtube video I saw. I waggle my eyebrows.

"I owe Michael a backlog of lines from before all this mess, which he has decided to turn into a lesson of doing as I'm told," I explain.

He considers what I've said and his eyes open wider, in awe. "Ain't that cheatin'?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On who you ask… me or Michael?"

"I might be new to this family, but I'm sure it's Michael's opinion that matters."

"Ha! You tell me that when you have five hundred of these to write." Apparently, Michael now takes tips from my father. Those two, I swear to Christ, they are the best of friends.  
_"I, Dean Daniel Jonathan Winchester will eventually learn to do as I'm told. It has been a struggle, seeing as I insist on acting like a brat, a cute brat, but a brat none-the-less. But Brats, charming as they are, make trouble and trouble is dealt with in the sternest of fashions. Are you tired of writing yet? Good. Allow this to remind you of the misery you will encounter should you choose to disobey me."_

"That's all a bunch of nonsense."

"It's supposed to be." He clearly took notes from my father.

"Dallas wouldn't do that to me anyway—not his style."

"So much to learn young Pad Wan. Uncle Dallas probably won't, but Uncle Chris would and in case you haven't noticed, those two operate on a hive mind level."

His eyes get wider, if that's possible. "Fuck me."

"Yeah, bet my idea doesn't look so stupid now, huh?"

"And what if you're caught?"

"If I'm caught… Well, he'll probably do what Papa did; double the number and spank my ass, but he won't find out."

"Your father did, but an angel won't?"

"You don't know Castiel Winchester. And besides, if Michael does catch me, which he won't, he'll simply find me endearing—in a Dennis the Menace sort of way."

Jake is still apprehensive about the whole thing, but I can tell he sees the merits of my plan. "I don't think you really understand Dennis the Menace, but I'm gonna shelve this idea, just in case."

"How's the leg and…whatever?" I say, starting in on my lines.

"Still hurts like a sonavabitch, but least I'm getting around now."

"You reconsidering leaving?" 'Cause he sounds like he is.

"Look Dean, I know _you_ don't remember, but I have responsibilities. I save people. I'm not just going to give up hunting for a couple of over protective mother hens I just met."

They're more than that to him, I don't care what he says. "I get that Jake, but just think about being, maybe like Jen and Jared. You're already family. Stop by once in awhile."

He looks like he's thinking things, things he won't share, but he looks regretful. "At least write, Jake. Dally's gonna be a mess when you leave."

He bites his lip and nods. "This whole thing is stupid. I never fucking asked them to care about me."

I've already got a nice line of two lines written. Piece of cake. I laugh at Jake, because he's funny. Of course you don't ask people to care about you, but when they do, you appreciate it anyway, you've got to. I think he knows though, so I don't say anymore about that. "You excited for your first Colt Church Fundraiser? I know Uncle Dal's real proud of the way you helped."

For reasons I can't explain, that pisses him off. He basically throws a tantrum, pushing himself away from the table and grabbing up his crutches moodily. "You know what Dean? Fuck you. Don't talk to me anymore." He storms out of the kitchen and is replaced by Granddaddy Colt, who only just caught that.

"What'd I do?" Jesus Christ Jake's an ornery bastard.

Granddaddy smiles, placing his coffee mug down on the table. "Nothing, cowboy. That right there is one conflicted cowboy. He thinks he can hate his way out of this one, but it's too late and he knows it. Just let him get it all out."

Did Granddad just use the word hate as in the way _my_ generation uses the word hate? "Yeah, Granddaddy."

"Besides, you know your uncle Dal will fix him," he says conspiratorially.


	40. The One Where Brad Won't Say Goodbye but They Break Up Anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vote was pretty close between Winchester Way and For You which I was stunned over! I can't tell you how happy it makes me that For You was a big contender, since I've spent most of my writing years on that story. I will get some chapters up for that one very soon. 
> 
> Also, I've finally begun re-editing The Winchesters, it's a tense/formatting nightmare. Many, many ellipsis need to die. Thank you for your patience with that story and following me anyway. In doing so, I've added to it. Just little bits and I will continue to add, as they come to me. I'm about 4 chapters in. 
> 
> I will be around to respond to comments tomorrow!

I've decided today's the day I'm going to do it. As much as tomorrow would make more sense, convenience-wise, I just can't bring myself to break up with Brad at the Church Fundraiser. The Fundraiser is a much loved memory to us all. As kids, we all got to do things out of the norm, like eat more junk than we were supposed to, skip naptimes and race around playing games in the sunshine. Uncle Dal always puts on a killer concert for both the kids and the adults—it's just an all around great family fun day.

I asked Papa for permission, explaining the situation to him and he said he was fine with Brad coming over here, to Colt Central. Of course he laid thick, a healthy dose of Papaing, ever wary about the Old Dean-New Dean situation going on, which I've got to say, doesn't seem like as much of a situation anymore. Dean's gone radio silent, deep under ground, I'm wondering if he'll even show up again, I've taken a stance of denial on the whole thing. His appearance has caused me nothing but trouble. I usually find my family's overprotective nature endearing, but now it's overboard and it's growing old fast.

Besides, the coolest part about Old Dean, is that he turns me into a super hero and he won't even do that when I ask him to—he was happy to sit by watching Daddy kick my ass—what's the point having him in my head? So screw that guy, he can go fuck himself. In fact, that's my official stance; he's gone and I'm going to convince everyone of that.

Today, the Brad thing.

"Are we really going through with this spanking thing, Michael?" For the record, I think it's a terrible idea. Michael's revealed how much he doesn't like others to touch me, which Daddy pointed out, was apparently news to no one except me, and that he's scolded Michael in past, for giving _him_ the stink-eye, if he was really in a covet-Dean mood. I see it now. It's funny how you can be blind for so long then the simple act of awareness can make it shine transparently. I mean, I always got that he was protective, but this is something else all together. How well is he really going to take watching Brad spank me? Why is he doing it? Will Brad live to see tomorrow?

I know Michael doesn't care about promises he made to some human he doesn't like. Of course he keeps his promises to me and my family—but the other humans can go suck eggs as far as he's concerned. He could technically call this spanking off. Sure Brad would be pissed, but Michael wouldn't lose sleep over it.

"We're doing it Dean. Stop trying to get out of it," he says like he'd like to punch a wall. His fists are balled tight and I get the impression I should stop talking, but of course I don't.

"If you kill Brad, Papa will exile you, you know that right?"

"Are you so sure about that?"

"Even if Papa doesn't like Brad, he doesn't want him dead. There is a firm no murders policy in my family."

"I'm not going to murder Brad. If it makes you feel better, I promise you, now will you stop chatting and just eat?"

"Jeez, you're a real bowl of roses this morning," I tell him, but I do dig in to my breakfast, which I did make myself this morning. I think I may have interrupted private time for my parents, which was later pointed out to me by Michael, who did not appreciate having to make breakfast with Daddy yesterday morning. Today, he yanked me out of bed and steered me to the kitchen, shoving a pan in my hand, telling me in no uncertain terms that I could make my own breakfast, or he'd make sure my ass felt like a hot frying pan.

"It's not 'bowl of roses', it's, fuck I don' even know what kinda mutant sayin' you put together there," Jake says, crutching into the kitchen. Somehow, he managed to get the three of them to spend the night at Colt Central, explaining how much more sense it made and that they might as well stay the weekend too, with all the events. For some reason, Jake likes hanging around here.

"So you're talking to me today are you? How did you manage to escape your fan club?" I ask.

"Shhh, they're still sleeping," he says opening the fridge, helping himself to the pitcher of homemade orange juice.

"Did you drug them? How could you have managed crutching around them from the bed to the door?" Jake of course, slept in Uncle Dal's bed, but Uncle Dal didn't want to be too far from him and slept on a blow up mattress beside and Uncle Chris who wasn't going to sleep away from Dally, so it was a family affair.

He gives me a cocky brow. "I'm a hunter Dean. Y'all seem to have forgotten that."

"I haven't," Michael says.

Jake leans on his crutches enough to pour himself some juice and I notice that he's become a lot more agile on those things in a short time. He is a hunter, he adapts, learns quickly, strategizes. Nothing'll ever get rid of the cold dark look in his eyes, or the thirst in his blood for hunting. I thought maybe he'd want to at least take a vacation, what, with being injured and all, but he doesn't, he just wants to get back out there. I can't help but wonder if Old Dean was like that too. If _I_ was like that.

Suddenly, it's like the house is filled with elephants, at least two someones are thudding down the stairs and those someones turns out to be Uncle Dal who's still half-asleep, his hair sticking up all over the place, looking bewildered and Uncle Chris, who's far more alert looking, as Winchesters tend to be. Still though, Uncle Dal is more burned out than I've seen him after a tour—Jake's got him run ragged. As is more and more the case, now that Daddy's made me aware, I'm seeing things, like what I'm seeing now; this is one of those times where the Brats have to take care of the Tops, and we can't let them know what we're doing. I give Uncle Chris a meaningful look.

"Lordy be, Jake," Uncle Dals says rubbing his eyes. "I had this dream you left and then I woke up and you weren't there and I thought it'd come true. If you needed orange juice I could've got that for you."

"You look like you done lost your shoe, cowboy," Jake says smirking into his OJ.

Uncle Dal's none too impressed with Jake's choice of expression—it wasn't that bad, but Uncle Dal is cranky. Something that doesn't happen too often, but when it does, look out. I decide to jump in before he does something he'll regret later. I hop up. "Actually Uncle Dal, Michael says I'm making breakfast this morning, since I've been a slacker this whole time. I was just gonna make something for Jakey here," I tell him, using his nickname, making Jake scowl at me.

Uncle Chris takes the opportunity to snag Uncle Dal by the elbow. "C'mon sweetheart, looks like Dean's got everything covered here. You promised me some cuddle time."

"Did I? I'm sorry, Sugar. You really making breakfast Dean?"

Well now I am. "Yes, sir, Uncle Dal. You go ahead. Michael and I will take good care of Jake here."

"Okay, Dean. Come get me if you need anythin' and you behave yourself Jake Travis." Uncle Dal lets Uncle Chris usher him back upstairs, with Uncle Chris looking back to give me a wink and mouth the words, thank you.

"Blech, cuddle time. What's with those two?" Jake says, soon as they're out of ear shot.

"That was us saving your ass, dude. A thank you would be nice." Uncle Chris knew telling Uncle Dal he needed sleep would not fly—Top types will put your needs ahead of theirs if they're really worried about you and with Uncle Dal in such a poor state, he was less likely to listen to reason anyway. The only way out, was to have Chris need something from Dal.

"You really going to make me some breakfast?"

"I am," I say pulling out the frying pan again, which only makes me think of spanking and the one I'm about to receive from Brad.

"Good, I want grits with cheese and bacon, oh and large a omelet."

"Not a diner Jake. You get eggs, bacon and toast."

"Yeah, fine."

As I prepare more breakfast, Jake crutches over to a chair near Michael and slumps into it. Channeling Daddy, I do what any Colt would do in this situation. "What's wrong Sugarbean?"

When I don't even merit a dirty look for that one, I know he's not in a good place. "You wouldn't get it if I told you, maybe Old Dean would—he around?"

I do check in to see if I can access him, but nope. "I think he left, so you're stuck with me. Try."

He moans and throws his head back. "You know what. I already told you."

Michael's pretending not to be interested, but he's interested. I put slices of bacon in the pan. "Sounds like it's bothering you, Jake." I'm stating the obvious like Daddy does, which somehow works out thoughts in your head you can't place words to.

"Yeah, okay? It bothers me. I, I _like_ them, they're decent. I suppose y'all are."

"Aw, Jakey," I say.

"'Cept you, Winchester," he says with a smirk.

"You know, if you stay you'd be a Winchester."

"Wouldn't I be a Colt?" he asks, then blushes, his question revealing he's thought about it.

I'm generous in deciding not to tease him for that. "Nope. A Winchester. Uncle Dal already decided on taking Uncle Chris's last name. Don't you remember him naming you a Winchester after the hospital incident?"

"Yeah, but that was all fake stuff. I just assumed because, Dallas is, you know."

"Yeah. I know, but never-the-less, he's becoming a Winchester."

"Forget all that, we're off topic, point is, I think they're decent and they're not gonna understand and that I am leaving and I'm gonna make Dallas upset."

Michael clears his throat. "Dallas will be upset, but no one will be surprised. It's just like a hunter—married to his work and all that."

I hide my eye roll and flip bacon, then crack some eggs into the pan—Jake's getting sunny side up whether he likes it or not. I shove toast into the toaster.

"Least hunters actually save people. Angels are nothin', but dickbags out for themselves."

"You're lucky you're already broken, though perhaps you need a matching set of smashed knees."

"Enough you two." I place the bacon onto a plate, as I pour Jake a cup of coffee. "Jake, Dallas will be upset when you go, but he knows you're going, which is why you oughta be nicer to him while you are here. You got some time with them, make it the best you can."

"That'll just make him sadder."

"First, you're screwed there anyway, second, no, he'll be sadder if he thought there was nothing he could do to make you happy while you were here. Just behave yourself, be a nice boy and everything will be fine," I tell him sliding the eggs onto his plate, then buttering toast; I pour cream into his coffee and serve it to him.

"Wow, lookit you. A regular Martha Stewart."

"Shut your piehole Jake."

"Dean Daniel, language," Daddy says walking in at the wrong time, missing the awesome job I did giving him advice.

Daddy's hair's all shaggy and he's rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, Daddy. You want some breakfast? I'm making food."

"That'd be nice, Dean Bean. Papa would probably like some too. Where's Nana and Granddaddy?"

"Went out to get some last minute things for tonight."

"What was all the commotion? It sounded like elephants…"

We fill Daddy in and before long, the kitchen is filled with Colts coming to help with the birthday celebration, but they arrive expecting breakfast. Daddy, Auntie Caroline and I become short order cooks and Michael's our servant, which is kind of fun. "Hasn't your family ever heard of a diner?" he complains in my ear as I had him plates of breakfast.

I smile and shrug. "It's always this way."

I notice when Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris come back down, Jake waves them over. Is he taking my advice? Uncle Dal is stoked and heads straight to Jake, placing a kiss on his head then smoothing back his hair. By this point it's standing room only, so Uncle Dal stays behind Jake, with hands on either shoulder and Uncle Chris crowns him with the white Chesney hat, that seems to mean something secret to them. All three of them are smiling now, they look like a perfect, happy, family.

"Photo Opp!" Auntie Caroline says bringing them food and pulls out her phone. "Aaaand, got it. I'll send that to you, Chris."

"Caroline! We weren't even posed for it, do it over."

"No. It was candid and it was perfect Christian Winchester."

When breakfast is done, Michael grabs my hand and pulls me away from the crowd. "We have a date with a meathead. I have secured these," he says throwing the keys to the Impala up in the air and catching them.

"But how did you…?"

"Papa Winchester noticed the sudden garden of Colts that sprouted up and considered your request would no longer work with said garden all around."

"He's letting us out?"

"For today, but I have a feeling if we do this without consequence, we could very well be released from our confinement."

"Sweet, we can do that. Hand over the keys."

**

I run a hand over her and I feel a rippling through me, like sound energy. There's always been something about Baby. Of course she's gorgeous, but that's not it, it's something else. She feels a level of special I can't explain, like her and I are connected through my soul. It's _him_ I'm feeling ripple through me, Old Dean and I can't ignore that he's there like I want to. He reminds me that this car is something I've had since before I was me, this me, but that this car also represents the only thing that's been in all my lives, the old and the new.

"Should I be jealous?" Michael asks.

"Ha, ha! Very funny." As if I'd have sex with my car, unless my car could be turned into Zac Efron, then yes, yes I would.

Brad is expecting us, so he's out front and I see he's got his keys, like he intends on driving. I don't argue. This is his rodeo and I'm about to break it off with him, he should get something. I climb into the front. The truck we're in today isn't as lifted as the one he's got at home, but it's high. "Don't get it dirty back there," he says to Michael. "This is my cousin's truck."

If he thinks Michael's going to be the one to get his truck dirty, he does not know Michael. But I do and I know Michael's disgusted about all the dirt he sees. I mean, I can't see the dirt, but Michael has a talent for seeing invisible dirt. "I'll do my best," Michael says on his best behavior, yet always only a hair away from strangling Brad.

We drive a ways out to what I call the 'boonies', in other words, out to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere and all of us hop out of the truck and I signal to Michael to give us a minute. If I had known we couldn't do this at his house, I would have just told him to come over to Colt Central, where spankings are normal and everyday. I guess he's trying to think about my privacy, or whatever, which is nice, but that just makes me feel worse about breaking up with him.

Speaking of which, I've got to face the Brad music, which if his body language is anything to go by, he knows is coming. He's still got that hurt puppy look about him. _Okay Winchester. You can do this. Man up._ Then go to Daddy for cuddles and consolation. "We need to break up," I exhale out.

"Break up?"

"Yeah. This, us," I say gesturing between us, "is not working for me. I tried it. I told you before, sex is what I do—I can't be tied down to one person."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said." Brad's whole face falls, no his whole person falls. I feel like an asshole. "But it's not fucking working."

"So this whole thing is because I won't have sex with you." It's not a question. "That's messed up Dean. Really messed. For a guy that comes from such a reputable family, a _good_ family, you're fucked up."

I've used the word 'fuck' in every way imaginable. Heard it used in every way too, or so I thought, 'till Brad goes and says it _like that._ He's like Daddy, only using cuss words on a limited basis, so when he says them, they have more impact. That and the context. Nothing guts me like hearing I might not be good enough for my family. I know it doesn't mean he's right, but I also know Brad cares about me. Enough that he's saying this out of true belief in the statement and I can't help the depressed weight that sinks into me.

"You don't see it though. It's because of that college guy. He's not good for you Dean. Sorry. I know I'm not supposed to say stuff about him, but since we're 'breaking up', that's how I feel and I'm gonna say it. He's poison."

No one talks shit about Michael like that. I don't care if I am fucked up. "Go fuck yourself, Brad. If you want to say I'm fucked up, fine, but don't talk shit about Michael. Ever. Got it?"

Michael, is standing a little ways off, far enough Brad thinks he can't hear anything, but I know he can and by the way Michael's shifting, I can tell that he's amused. I am not. By this point, I'm in Brad's face and he looks scared. Big, giant beefy Brad is scared of medium-build (but tall) me. "Y-yeah, Dean. I'm sorry, I just, look, I care about you. A lot. I think we should be together, even if you don't; that's not gonna change how I feel. And I think that if you really gave us a chance—I know you think you have, but you haven't—I think you'd see truth in what I'm saying. Don't you want to have at least tried?"

Fuck. That statement fucking haunts me. But I have everything I need with Michael don't I? "Whether you think I'm fucked up or not, I'm done with exclusivity."

"Then you're right, Dean. I'm not doing this, not now at least. Maybe…maybe it's just bad timing? I'm not giving up on us though. We'll be together someday, I know it and I'm here for you, no matter what. If you need anything, I'm here for you," he repeats and means every word.

I get the feeling he's hinting to a larger something about 'being here for you.' "Are you expecting I'll come ask _you_ for a spanking?"

"You gotta admit, I do a pretty good job keeping you in line and I haven't even spanked you yet, imagine if I had?"

The thought does give me the good kind of shivers. "He ain't right for you Dean, you're going to see that."

"What did I just fucking say?"

Brad rolls his eyes, done with me. Michael walks over. "Okay, enough. Touching as that scene was, we are here for something else." Michael seems pretty Hell bent on this spanking.

"What? You still want me to spank him?"

"You will won't you?"

"Yeah, I mean yeah I will, but I figured that was off."

"Yeah, Michael. I kind of feel that should be off now."

I swear I hear Michael mutter something about humans under his breath. My guess is something about the way we do things. "No. It's not off. Will you do it?"

"Honestly? I'd love to show Dean what I can do for him. Maybe, he'll even change his mind right now."

I see Michael's hands twitch and I cringe, waiting for the murdering to begin, but nothing happens. "Good. Dean, you're in his hands now. I've got to make a phone call to my uncle. I'll be back."

"What?" This is not how I expected this to go. I figured Michael would be standing over us, watching every swat, correcting his technique, showing him how to do it better, not fucking leave.

"Is there any reason you think I shouldn't leave you with him?"

Okay, that's closer to my Michael. I shake my head. "No. We'll be fine." Except for my ass that is, though in actuality, I'm not that worried about my ass. I doubt Brad could have too much experience. I'm sure with a couple of well placed yowls, I can make him think I'm suffering and this can be over with pretty quickly.

Michael looks me over, then stalks off and if they could, I think trees would jump out of his way. What is up with him? He's pushing for this, but I know he doesn't like it.

I focus on Brad who's standing, waiting, patient as fuck. "Sooo—"

"No, Dean. Don't say anything for a second, just let me." I nod. "Can we, pretend he doesn't exist for the next little bit?"

"Not gonna happen, Brad."

He sighs, frustrated. "Right, I shouldn't have used that phrase, what I mean is, can we just be us while I do this? You don't owe me anything, I just want you to see something, please?"

Why do his fucking pleases always get me into doing shit with him? They do though. "Okay."

He smiles, he does have a beautiful smile. "Thank you." After that, Brad transforms, just a bit, he's still him, but he gets that edge I've seen before, like when he made me get my lines done. I get more shivers, I live for those shivers. With his own version of solid, Brad walks over to the back of the truck and open the bed. "C'mon Dean, hop up with me."

Curious, I follow and we sit together on the end of the truck bed, which stares off into the horizon. For miles, there's grass that's browned under the hot Texas sun with the dirt and rocks showing through and random stretches of fence.

Brad takes my hand. "Now darlin', I'm sure you've been punished by your folks, but we haven't settled this matter between us and we need to, don't we Dean?"

I don't mean to compare the two, Michael and Brad, but my brain does it anyway. Brad is fucking stern, there's no doubt about that, but he's gentle in a way that Michael isn't. Not to say Michael doesn't take care, but they're two different kinds.

I get pulled into Brad's discipline.

"Yes, sir." He smiles wide. Tops have a hard time resisting, yes sir. "And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken off like that, I know how many people worry about me. It-it caused a lot of trouble for everyone, i-including you." Why am I getting all choked up over this? Maybe I do need to 'settle this between us.'

He runs a hand through my hair and I wonder if Michael's watching on, wanting to kill Brad. "It did. I know why you do it Dean. I get it. You're a brat and sometimes, you just need a spanking, but it's hard to ask for one."

"Well yeah, but running off that day was mostly about you talking kind of dickish, to be honest."

I don't get a pleasant look for that one. "You're being chastised, do you think that's the kind of language you should be using with me?"

"No, sir. But I did feel the need to clarify."

"Clarifying's fine and so is telling me you don't like something I say, but you can say it nicer Dean. I always speak nicely to you, I expect the same."

He's got a point. "Okay, so it was a brat move, but I was feeling antsy."

"I've got a good cure for antsy, darlin'." He says that with such sunshine, it's barely like I'm being scolded, though I feel scolded. "I know you're not mine, but if you were, I'd have rules and you'd follow them. They'd keep you from getting to that point in the first place. You wouldn't have need of runnin', Dean."

I hate to say it, but Brad's right. That's what Papa does for me. I mean, Brad's a bit delusional if he thinks I wouldn't have need of running. No one's better at keeping me in line than Papa and even then I brat off, but I do need the rules, I might like them even.

"What was it I said you didn't like?"

"I guess it was kinda dumb."

"Nothing's dumb."

"Seems that way now, but I didn't like all that stuff you were saying about driving and knocking my horsemanship. Is that what it would have been like? You driving? Would you have taken away my car? Or was it a relationship metaphor?"

He laughs. "Dean, I think you read too much into that one. First, I was trying to be romantic—you know, knight in shining armor? Whisks you away on a horse? Ring any bells?"

I stare at him blankly.

"Ain't you ever had anyone do something romantic for you?" he says.

Could the things Michael does be considered romantic? Probably not by most, but I do. "Yeah, but, not in that way I guess."

"I do have to be honest with you, I did want to drive the bus Dean, eventually. I didn't mean it just then, but I did want to be your head of house someday."

"Yeah, you want June Cleaver, I'm no June."

"I can see that and I don't want June, I want you. Sure I wanted you to stay home with our kids, but I thought you'd be okay with that. I see you with kids every year at the church fundraiser and you're always baking something—I thought you'd love that, was I mistaken?"

Was he? "I, I don't know. I don't know what I want yet, I guess." Wow, who knew this conversation was going to be so deep.

"The horse thing, that's on me. I'm sorry for saying that, I shouldn't have assumed, or if I did, I should have assumed Dean Winchester is good at everything he tackles, cause he is."

Brad's so dreamy when he says that. "I'm kind of awesome. A great reason not to spank me."

"You are awesome, but I'm still spanking you. You need a lesson in communication. Nothing wrong with the conversation we just had, but temper tantrums are not okay. You need to learn to ask for spankings sometimes."

Wow, it feels so different when he says it like it is. I feel like a reprimanded little boy and he's not saying anything Papa hasn't been trying to drill into my head. Daddy's always telling me about asking for spankings too. But ask for one? Shouldn't I be trying to avoid them?

"All right, I think we're done talking, unless you have anything more you're unsure of?" he asks sounding so damn genuine. I shake my head. "You can go ahead an ask for your spanking then."

"Ask? _Ask?_ "

"Ask."

"If you think I'm going to ask you for a spanking, you're crazy. Who asks for spankings?"

"You do, right now." His eyes darken and his voice reaches that stern octave all Tops seem to get before a spanking, the one you don't fuck with.

"But," sigh, "okay, fine. Would you please spank my ass?"

"For?"

"For being a brat."

"I can do that. Was that so hard?"

I'm not going to say it was easy. He reaches over to undo my jeans and fuck, I get a tingle. I don't think I'll ever know why I get excited about spankings, but I do, even when I don't want them. "I'm gonna take these down first and warm you up over your boxers."

I feel like sassing him and saying that I know how spanking works, but since I do know how spanking works, I know it's a stupid idea to sass your spanker, so I keep my mouth shut. He wants to do spanking one-oh-one, he can. I let him guide me over his firm thighs and yeah, Brad really needs to lay off the steroids, but at the same time, I like how they feel. Meaty and large; firm. I make myself comfortable across the truck bed and he begins with a hand to match the rest of him—heavy and fucking big.

The swats smart and he takes his time laying down one after the other. I can feel his handy work making my ass grow warm. Brad is strong, but I wouldn't say it hurts yet, I will say it's going to hurt. "You doing some good thinking down there?"

"Whoa, wait, thinking?" I don't know what that comes out. I know I'm supposed to be thinking, but I feel off kilter having a new spanker.

"That's the point of this Dean. I know you get spanked, I'm sure you've been told to think before."

"Yes, sir. I have, it's just, you're new. I'm having trouble focusing."

I can feel him reach for the waistband of my boxers, then it's warm air across my bare ass. "Focus darlin', I'll make sure to do my part."

Huh, Brad sounds like he genuinely cares. He's not just here to spank me, though nothing wrong with that, but he's got a purpose in mind too. A real one. He starts in spanking me again and he doesn't let up, or give breaks, it's just firm, methodic swats. It fucking hurts and it's interesting. He's… good at this. I know. I consider myself an expert on the matter, with all the spankings I get on a regular basis.

"Ow, mother fudge!"

"That's what bratty boys get, I'm afraid. Focus."

All I can focus on, is the hand connecting with my ass, making it fucking hurt and I wiggle and squirm. He gives me a short reprieve. "I'll help you. What were some of the ways you could have told me you didn't like what I said?"

His help is in the form of more swats and I'm out of breath by the time he's done that round. "I, I… I could have… just told you I've been riding since I was little, sir."

"That's good Dean. Tantrums are for little boys. You're not, are you?"

"No, sir." I wince knowing what's coming and I’m right—more of his fucking monster hand—which means more squirming and yelping.

I do start focusing though, because I have a good feeling this spanking isn't ending until he senses some fucking contrition. I underestimated Brad, this pro-level spanking is unexpected. He's right, I could have just talked it out with him, but most of my emotions have been tangled up in Michael. I can't even blame the Old Dean thing, that happened after I was a huge dick to Brad and Michael and my family. They're good to me, I'm irresponsible. I know I'll always be a brat, but I could at least _try_ to… not be? Where do I even begin with that?

Brad spanks me a long-ass time. This is going to be one of those I'm going to feel it later spankings, I know it and no I'm not crying, but I do feel contrite. I feel other things too. The storm swirling about inside me feels calm in a new way—not that I've never got that from anyone else, it's just different, like eating another variation of chocolate.

I'm breathing heavy when he does stop, but I'm also, content. He's drawing circles on my back and he's, sniffling. Is he crying? "Can I get up?"

"Yeah, you can get up Dean."

I do and he helps me with my clothes, wiping at his eyes with his forearm. I let him manhandle me to a cuddling position with him, he's not crying anymore and I'm looking up to his face with awe. "That was, really good Brad. This was, not what I thought was going to happen."

"What did you think was going to happen?"

"I predicted an amateur spanking," one where he was murdered halfway through by an angel, "one that just toasted my ass a little, I'd kick, I yowl for effect, you'd end it and that would be that."

He arches a brow at me. "Were you fake yelping?"

"No. Noooo sir. That was all real." I have a whole new appreciation for those hands—I will always look at them warily from this point forward.

He smiles. "Looked pretty real to me."

"Yeah, well, I won't be sitting comfortably for at least a few hours, that's for sure."

"We're getting offtopic though. What did happen for you?"

"It did its spanking magic, I feel better like I would any other spanking, only, it's a different kind of settling. It's, well I have to say it's nice even if I have no wish to feel your hand on my ass again—what's that thing made out of anyway?"

I never find out. Michael's suddenly there. "Looks like the spanking is over. Unhand him Football Brains."

Brad is fed up with Michael, but he sits us up. "He's all yours, even if he shouldn't be."

"C'mon, it's time to go, say goodbye, Dean."

"Goodbye, Dean," I say, smirking. I know I swore off brattery only moments ago, but Michael just brings it out in me.

"Don't y'all need a ride back with me?" Brad says.

"Oh no. Our time with you is done."

"Well I'm going back with him, the Impala is at his place."

"Is it?"

I sit up and look into the direction Michael is. Way off in the distance, I see the unmistakable shape of the Impala. "How did you? Did you get an angel dick to drive my fucking car again Michael?" I say without thinking.

"You're welcome," Michael says.

"What's an angel dick?" Brad asks.

Fuck. "It's what I call Michael's friends. I'm not a fan."

Brad does his thing, being ballsy as fuck, where he lifts me down from his truck, ignoring Michael's firm, don't fucking touch Dean vibes. Michael pulls me to him. "Look Dean, I've known you my whole life, I'm always here for you even if we're not dating, got it? You need anything—"

"He won't."

"Michael." I pull away and wave as Brad closes up the back of the truck and heads to the driver side. "Goodbye, Brad. See you in Church."

He opens the door, about to step in, his expression saying we may be over, but he's not willing to say goodbye. "Anything Dean, for any reason."

Then he hops into his truck and is gone.

**

When we get to the Impala, I see that it wasn't angel dicks driving her. It's Jake and Uncle Chris. He honks the horn. "Well look who it is."

"Uncle Chris?"

"It's insanity over there. Michael called your daddy to see if anyone could pick up the Impala and bring her here we volunteered, but that meant one of us had to drive to Brad's, Dallas dropped us off."

Jake's in the front seat, half asleep. "This one's drugged up, we're hoping the car ride will put him to sleep."

"I'm not an infant," he mumbles. "You don't have to drive me around to make me go t'sleep. I'll do it happily on my own when we get back."

"Then quit acting like one. See? He's cranky too."

I note, Uncle Chris seems to have acquired the hat back in their musical hat game. Since Uncle Chris is in the driver's seat and Jake is already shotgun, Michael and I slide into the backseat. Unexpectedly, he pulls me to him, in a tight, secure way, and I swear to Christ, I feel him sigh heavy under me, even though Michael has no real need of that kind of human physicality—it's just plain relief.

"Michael, you okay?"

Uncle Chris is already pulling away from the secluded fields.

Michael nods into my neck from behind. "Fine, Duck." He's quiet for a bit then, "Was he, better than me?"

Normally I'd laugh, but he sounds too vulnerable for that right now. It's not often Michael forgoes sarcasm and insult to pull his answers out of people. He's been off all morning, I don't know what the fuck's wrong, just that the equilibrium has shifted and he needs me. I snuggle into him. "I need more than a football player to wrangle this cowboy."

We're both being quiet in an attempt to not be heard by Jake and Uncle Chris. They've got music and they're own bickering match going as Chris tries to convince Jake to sleep.

Michael cards a hand through my hair, and I recognize the way he's doing it, it exactly like Daddy does—he learned it from Daddy. "Did he do a thorough job?"

"Weren't you watching, from like a secret hideout, or something?"

"I couldn't help hearing and being within range in case you cried for help." As if I'd ever cry for help, but I don't say so while he's being all strange. "But I did not watch."

"Okay Michael, enough of the bizarre-o act, what's going on?"

Michael quickly resumes his previously scheduled Michaeling. "Nothing's going on. Answer the question, Dean."

Ugh. I don't feel like fighting with him. I'm too high on spanking. "Yes, he did. A great job." I'm not feeling like fighting, but I am annoyed. I'm also telling the truth.

"Good. You should have options, Dean. You should see what it's like to be spanked by someone other than me."

"Okay, seriously, what the fuck Michael?" because this is not the Michael of a few days ago.

"Dean, I'm not as strict about cuss words as your uncle Dallas is, and I know I'm the cool Uncle, but c'mon. A little decorum, if you please."

"Did you really just use the words, a little decorum, if you please?" Jake says.

"Grampa Winchester says that," I tell him. "Sorry, Uncle Chris." And while yes, Uncle Chris can be 'cool,' he's got his strict moments. I'd say if I was going to pick cool uncles, there would be two and their names are Jared and Jensen.

"For which, using cuss words, or ratting me out?"

"Both."

Jake's laughing.

"You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I tried, not tired."

"Then I know someone who's goin' to bed early."

"Dean. A little help."

"Dean can't help you, sleep, but they can keep it down."

"Yes, sir," I say on both my and Michael's behalf. I also drop the topic, for now. Besides, Jake and Chris are entertaining.

"It's impossible to sleep in this car."

"Just rest your eyes then."

"Fine, but it counts as sleeping."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Right, don't you mean Dallas is the judge of that?"

"True and that's funny. I love how funny you are, kid."

It makes me smile that Uncle Chris is so gone for Jake too, gone enough to think he's hilarious when he's not.

"You should rest too Dean," Michael says in one of the softest voices I can remember Michael using.

"Me? I don't have a broken appendage, I'm fine Michael."

"Sorry, did I sound like I was asking? Close your eyes, Dean. Now."

Ugh! Fine. I do, letting the sound of his domineering voice wash over me. I don't fall asleep, I just rest my eyes, and enjoy feeling Michael beneath me, and the roar of Baby's engine just under the sound of the Zeppelin Uncle Chris has playing in the background.


	41. Sam and Cas's Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am awful and did not mention Ducky as the beta for last chapter. She looked over the Brad spanking to help me make sure it was right. Oh! and she just posted in [This Omega is Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1005820/chapters/1993509) Which I love with smexy BAMF Sam if you're down with the Wincest! 
> 
> This is the last chapter before things get hairy. Enjoy!

Daddy and Papa's party is in full swing. There are so many people at this party, listing them would take all night. When we returned from the spanking fields, we were immediately put to work. The last I saw of Michael was when we hopped out of the Impala and Daddy commandeered him. Uncle Dal grabbed Jake, while I attempted to duck off for a minute, but was snatched up by Nan.

I looked after a truck load of Colt children for a bit, and when that was done, Uncle Dal put me on Jake duty. I'd rather have the truckload of children than the one surly Jake Travis turned Winchester—he really would make a great Winchester if anyone want my opinion; he's got that air about him. "I don't get it, your parents were born on the same day and the same year?"

"For the third fucking time, yes."

"But how does that happen?"

"Stars shine, planets collide, the prophecies foretell—"

"—yeah okay, I get it. It's just fucking weird is what it is."

"You watch your mouth Jake Travis."

"You just said fuck."

"I know, I just feel like your elder for some reason, since I've been Colt mentoring you all this time; wanted to see what it would be like to say it."

"You're not my elder, I'm your elder, douchenozzle."

"Not in family years."

"You think I ain't never had a family?"

"I did kind of assume that, yeah. Did you?" I'm not sure he'll even answer that, but Jake's been in a decent mood today.

He nods. "A Daddy, Mama and baby sister."

My stomach drops. **Revenge.** That word comes from somewhere, but not from me, well not exactly. _Dean?_ Nothing. He's silent. _Like you could fucking know that,_ I challenge since he's not around.

**Huh. I'm impressed. I'm still a know-it-all-little-shithead. It's not rocket science. The way he's been wanting to hang around family? He's mentioned his dad but not his mom or sister? C'mon. It's revenge, plain and simple—I'd say against the demon that killed his father, probably killed them too.**

If only I could fucking punch Old Dean. It's the most I've heard from 'him' in awhile though. I don't get it, I just know that denial is going to be a lot fucking harder with him still saying shit. "The demon who killed your father killed them too? You two were on a revenge mission?"

Jake nods again—okay, point for old Dean. "Yeah, it was. Both my parents were hunters though, I was born into it. They tried to settle down, have a family. I was eight and already good with a weapon, but it didn't save Bailey."

"You were just a kid, Jake. It wasn't your fault."

"Don't hurt less."

"No wonder you like families, being around us. You miss yours."

"I guess."

"I'm sorry, Jake."

"It was a long time ago. It changed us—me and my daddy. Not so fun to be around, but he was a good man and I respected the hell out of him."

"Fuck that sucks. I don't really remember him, but John was my hunter father. My uncle Bobby told me a similar story about him, I guess that's what the life does to you."

It's even managed to taint Uncle Jared and Uncle Jensen some, but thankfully they're Colts and most of their Coltness, has remained in tact.

Jake shrugs. "I guess. You know, my daddy worked with Dean, before I was born."

My whole body breaks out in goose flesh. I don't know why, but it's fucking eerie to hear that. _You want to tell me something, Dean?_ Fucking nothing. Asshole.

"I never met him of course, but Daddy always talked about him. He was a legend in our house."

That's as far as we get. We're interrupted, first by Michael, who looks terrible. His shirt buttons are undone and I can see his chest, his hair, in every which direction and he's dirty. He's also filled with restrained rage. "What happened to you?"

"I was assigned stage set up. Why must everyone of these events include a full concert?"

"'Cause my uncle's a country singer?"

"Well I'm going to have a shower and change, don't go too far."

"Where am I going to go?" He's making no sense. He also doesn't answer and storms away. "Lordy be."

"What's up his ass?"

"Fucked if I know. Wanna go see if we can get our hands on some beer? I know a place."

I take Jake to the place we met; the Colt barn, where I can always count on my cousins for a teen style party and sure as blazes, the Colt cousins have beer in coolers. We're on our second, when Grampa Winchester comes walking into the barn and I nearly jump out of my skin. He sees the beer, which I try hide while make it look like I'm not trying to hide it. "Uh, Grampa! Hi."

"You don't have to hide that beer from me Dean, I was young once too, believe it or not."

"Of course you were Grampa."

"I slipped a few things under the nose of my parents too, your secret's safe with me," he says, touching a finger to his nose. "I just wanted to come say hi and make sure you were ready for your visit—I saw you head this way earlier."

"Ready, sir. Have you met Jake yet?" Grampa knows of Jake, but they haven't been formally introduced and I know that Grampa is not in the know about Jake's family status. I'm sure he's heard rumor and I'm also sure that has something to do with him coming to chat with us.

I bet Uncle Chris wanted to introduce him properly, but now they've waited too long and it would be rude of me not to at this juncture, so I do. Besides, it's probably better the news comes from me. "I haven't, should I have?"

I spill all the beans. What? I gotta have fun sometime. "Grampa Winchester, meet, Jake Travis—he's Uncle Christian and Uncle Dallas's. Uncle Christian even named him an honorary Winchester."

If I was Christian, Grampa Winchester might tear a strip off me, hell, maybe even pull me aside and spank my ass, but I'm not Christian, I'm Dean Winchester, favored grandchild, number one person, apple of Grampa Winchester's eye. Jake doesn't know any of this of course and looks nervous and also like he's going to kill me later. Even he's picked up that Grampa Winchester is someone who needs to be impressed with you at all times.

"Hello, sir. Pleased to meet you," Jake says.

Grampa shakes his hand, appraising him. "And what do you think of all this, Dean?"

This is where I could destroy Jake. He'd better fucking thank me for this later. "He's got the makings of a Winchester for sure Grampa and Uncle Chris and Dal love him lots. Like a son."

"They do?"

"Yep."

Finally Grampa addresses Jake. "Well I say, I say, it's nice to meet you, Jake." He's so in! "I imagine later we'll have a chat about why you're on crutches."

"Yes, sir."

"And what else do you think of him, Dean?"

Only Grampa would ask a question like that, right in front of the person in question—Grampa Winchester gives no fucks. I look to Jake and I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but his eyes are nervous. He's always trying to act like he doesn't care, but he does. A lot. He can sense that I make or break this introduction and he's silently pleading with me to give him a good word.

"I think he's perfect for them and he's good salt, Grampa. I like him, even if he's a bit rough around the edges sometimes."

Jake scowls at me.

"All Winchesters are a bit rough around the edges." Whoa! "Now why don't you hand me one of those contraband beverages. I'd like you to tell me about school Dean."

Grampa is updated by my parents, but he likes to have a full report from me and I'm sure his seeking me out is also because he misses me. He gets excited about these visits. Man, I am an ass for even thinking about not coming to Texas—Papa is right, it would crush him. I'm glad I have Papa to stop me from my own stupidity.

I tell Grampa all about school, my outstanding grades and other achievements and he's impressed at usual, "I expect no less from you, I'm proud of you Dean," but he doesn't stop there, he proceeds to interrogate the fuck out of Jake. He neatly stays away from the topic of his injury, like he senses something bigger, yet somehow manages to get a lot of information out of Jake.

When Grampa's done his beer, he excuses himself. "Looking forward to our two weeks together, Dean. Jake, I'm sure I'll be seeing more of you."

Jake visibly exhales when Grampa leaves. "Holy fuck, what is up with that guy Dean? I've faced some gnarly shit in my time, but that guy is terrifying."

I laugh. "Don't mess with Grampa Clyde."

"Easy for you to say, according to him, the sun shines out of your ass."

Yeah, yeah it does. I do enjoy being Grampa's favorite; I can't help it. "Don't worry, I use my powers for good, mostly."

"Will he understand me leaving? I can't imagine he'll take kindly to me upsetting his son."

"Grampa's a tough thread to unravel, it's hard to say how he'll react, but you've got a long time before that foot's in any shape for hunting, worry about it later."

"Yeah, you're right." We enjoy a third beer (which is beyond the limit of okay with Daddy, but I'm nowhere near feeling it) with the cousins.

"We should probably check in before one of them has a fit and starts texting me a bunch," Jake says when I'm nearing the end of my bottle.

"Aw, do you miss your daddies?"

"Shut up, Winchester. You know how Winchesters have a thing for seein' your face when they're worried about you and Colts have to do some kinda nurturing act after a certain amount of hours."

I'm impressed with his observations of the family. "Good point." I finish my beer and we head out of the barn.

**

_Chesney, I'll go with a Chesney for my first song. Jake'll like that._ I work on tuning my guitar for the one I've got in mind. I'm mostly done my tuning ritual when the handsomest man alive brings me a beer and a kiss . "Hey handsome, missed yah," Chris says.

"Funny, was just thinking the same things about you, you seen Jake in awhile?"

"Was gonna ask you the same question," he says laughing. "I guess it's a good thing that our brains run on the same wavelength now that we're getting married."

"Guess that means neither of us have seen him. I'll text him, you text Dean?"

Before Chris can answer, we're interrupted by Clyde Winchester. The man has not dimmed with age and there's really only one way to say this, he's one bad ass mother fucker. I'm not prone to that language, but nothing else describes the man more succinctly. He's tall, but he's not even a large man, just a medium build, and still, his whole being commands attention; when you set eyes on him, you have a hard time tearing them away if only for the fear you'll miss something important he's said and won't be able to do just as he's asked. No one wants to disappoint him.

"There something you two boys wanted to let me in on?"

Chris and I exchange a look that means, 'do you know why we're in trouble?' We both decipher that the other is just as clueless. "Not sure what you're referring to, sir," Chris says.

"I just spoke with a young man called Jake, that ring any bells?"

Oh Jeez. We didn't tell Winchester Senior the finer details about Jake. We decided there was no point, since he's leaving us anyway. Besides, it's not as if Jake is forthcoming about information about how we feel about him. Far as anyone can see, he's just a guy crashing with us, but I'm getting the distinct impression he knows what Jake means to us, which makes me wonder how he found out—super Winchester spidey senses?

"Yes, sir. Look, we can explain—"

"No need. Dean filled me in on everything."

Ah. Dean's the culprit. Thanks a lot half pint.

"What I want to know is, why I wasn't told of his change of status?"

"We're really just looking after him, 'till he's better, sir. Then he's leaving, going back to his job," Chris explains. "There has been no official change in status."

"You made him a Winchester, Dean said."

Of course he did.

"At least Dean has the good sense to fill me in."

Chris shakes his head. "That was just a thing at the hospital, it's not like I changed his name to Winchester, or anythin'. It made things easier was all."

"Well I don't like, I say I don't like that I wasn't consulted, but Dean put in a good word, so I approve. But I came to put you on notice: I better be informed from this point forward—or there will be consequences."

He's, approving? And we're not getting our butts whooped, immediately? "Absolutely sir, we mean it, he is leaving. We didn’t actually make him a Winchester—he doesn't even want to be," I explain. It's just a stupid fairytale in my head. The kid hates all my fussing, but I can't help it. I love him to death.

"I spent a good long time chatting, had a beer together and everything."

"You had a beer together?" While I'm confused as I process that Jake and Clyde Winchester had a beer together, I'm also ticked at Jake for drinking while he's on pain meds. That's it. That boy is in so much trouble. Also Dean—he was supposed to stop Jake from doing stuff like that.

"We did, I got to know him. He's a good kid and he uses the words Dallas and Christian every five seconds."

"He does?" Chris and I say at the same time.

Chris and I are really operating on hive mind level tonight.

"Don't you two pay attention?"

"Uh, yes sir."

"Well, I've given my approval now, so you can go ahead with making it official if you want."

"That won't be necessary, sir. What I mean is, we'll ask him, but I really think he's happy as a Travis."

Clyde laughs. "As if there's anything better than being a Winchester." I don't take offence over that, even though I'm technically a Colt. "You ask him, I'll get the adoption sorted."

"Adoption? Sir. He's twenty-five. He had a father. I don't think he wants to be adopted by us."

"A Mother and a Father—also a baby sister from what I gathered. It don't matter how old you are, sometimes you just want to belong somewhere. Making it official is a good way to do that, especially if like you say, he's leaving."

I barely know what's happening right now myself, but I can see Chris needs me to take over. I put my guitar aside and pull him to me. "We'll talk with him, sir and let you know."

"See that you do. I'll get things going on my end."

"Sir that's not—"

"Enjoy the rest of the party, boys."

And like a whirlwind he's gone. "Fuck me. What are we gonna do Dals? Jake's gonna freak with a question like that and Father's in that mode—he's not taking no for an answer. What if Jake doesn't want to? He's also not giving us any time."

I rub his arms. "It's okay. I'll figure this out. It's all gonna be good, darlin'." I sure hope I'm not lying.

Speak of the devil, two of them come walking up to us, or crutching up, I guess. Jake may not even realize it, from years of forgetting about injuries, but that foot's wearing on him. He's getting tired. If that wasn't enough, I know if he's seeking us out, he needs some care.

I'm ticked at the pair of them, but as usual, it's hard to be when they've both got adorable, goofy smiles. They've become friends and I'm proud of them for that. Still, I manage a stern look. "You sit in that chair, Jake Travis," I tell him, pointing to the chair I had been tuning my guitar in. "And you, Dean Winchester, I want a word with you, Sur."

"What did we do?" Dean asks, worried. Jake sits and picks up my guitar.

"You told Grampa Clyde."

"Oh, yeah. That."

"What were you thinkin', Dean?" Chris asks.

"I was thinking about my graduation from elementary school."

"Your what?"

"My graduation from elementary school. You know how Grampa prefers a paper invitation to formal kinds of events. Daddy had one all prepared for him, but it was under a stack of other things he had to mail that day. When he picked up the stack, it got left behind, but because Daddy thought he mailed it, it was like it became invisible on the counter—he didn't think about it again, until a week before the graduation, when Papa found it on the counter, under the bananas."

"Shit," Chris says, knowing the gravity of that kind of situation.

"Yeah. Daddy couldn't face Grampa and Papa couldn't either. They called in a favor to Grampa's favorite person, the one Dean Winchester. They knew if I Skype called Grampa, told him what happened and invited him, he would take the news a lot easier."

"Funny, I don't remember that," I say.

"You were away until two days before the graduation and by then it was the event that shall not be spoken of."

"That worked?"

"Yep. Like a Dean-charm. He boasted about how he'd gotten the most personal invite, how mistakes happen. Like then, I did you a solid. You're welcome by the way."

Even I know Clyde doesn't say things like, 'mistakes happen,' except to maybe his favorite person. Dean. I run a hand through my hair, I think he did do us a 'solid.' "I can see you meant well half pint, but I'm not sure I'm ready to send you a thank-you note." There's still the matter of Clyde thinking that we're suddenly going to adopt Jake, which I can't even begin to think about, how to bring up right now.

Dean shrugs. "Ask Papa, I was your best bet for that one. Grampa does not like to be in the dark."

That much I know is true.

"He's right, Dals. Thank you Dean. I would have liked some advance notice, 'cause that damn near gave me a heart attack, but we've left it so long, we would have had to put in for a favor with yah."

"I knew what I was doing," Dean says, acting like he's a sage wiseman.

I shake my head at Dean, kiss Chris on the forehead, then head over to our wayward Jake to look him over. "How you feeling, Jakey? When's the last time you ate something?"

"I'm fine Dallas, I only came by in the first place because I knew it was t-minus twelve seconds before a barrage of texts—I swear to Christ, that's all this phone is for, you two t'annoy the crap out of me."

I look over at Chris, who's behind the kid and ask him with out asking him if we should say something now about the Clyde thing. I don't imagine there's long we have before Clyde's going to say something. Heaven forbid Dean finds out, the little gossip. Chris shakes his head.

"Okay, we'll go get something to eat right now, jeez, wouldja stop lookin' at me like I'm gunna die?"

I guess I could tone down the worry, but the look I'm sure is in my eyes, isn't about him eating.

"Uh, yeah. We'll go get something to eat, Uncle Dal—we'll find Nan."

"Not so fast you two. Jake, you're staying with me. I heard about the beer."

"I'm twenty-five, a little fact you two seem to have forgotten."

As unimpressed as I am, Chris is perhaps more so. He crosses his arms and takes on his Winchester persona to the fullest, walking around to the front of the chair Jake's sitting on, still plucking at my guitar, not giving Chris the attention he's non-verbally requesting. Dean takes notice and stands up straighter. "Did I hear that right? You were drinking beer, while you're on medication?"

"Uh…" Jake trails off and looks at Dean for help.

"Aw shit, I forgot. Jake!"

"Dean, language. You're in enough trouble," I say.

"I really just forgot Uncle Dal. I wouldn't put him in danger on purpose."

"Not an infant. Right here," Jake says.

"Believe me, I know. Which is why you're stayin' right here where I can see you. I can't spank you properly, but I can ground you."

"And when he can't have two eyes on you, I will. Hell Jake, you can go into a coma doing that. That wasn't bright," Chris says. Jake looks gutted. Is he, upset over Chris being upset with him?

"Weeeellll, looks like y'all have everything sorted. I should skedaddle," Dean says, turning about face and trying to make off into the night.

"Not so fast half pint. You've got some responsibility to own up to."

"I forgot, Uncle Dal."

"You can't forget, c'mere."

No one around here bats an eye at a spanking, really and I'm not planning on the full experience, just something to remind him. Besides, when Cas catches wind, he'll not be pleased. Dean walks closer and stares at me, mulishly. "How many beer did you have?"

"Three, sir."

"Is that how many Jake had?"

"Yes, sir."

I spin him around and give him six good wallops to his naughty, Dean bottom.

"Ow! It's tender back there, Uncle Dal. Brad was there first."

I stand him up and hug him to me. "That was nothing and you know it. I don't feel sorry for you—behave yourself Dean Winchester."

"I will Uncle Dal, I'm sorry. I wasn't even trying to kill Jake that time," he says smiling up at me.

It's no wonder he avoids getting in trouble as often as he does when he's adorable like that. "Where's Michael?"

"Dunno. He went to take a shower awhile ago, haven't seen him since. I haven't even seen my parents much and it's their birthday. I should go find them."

"You do that, half pint and thanks for your help with Grampa Winchester."

"Anytime, Uncle Dal."

Dean leaves and Chris is still giving Jake his, Winchester-in-extreme-disapproval stare. To my surprise, it's working on him. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't believe you when you said it could cause spontaneous coma, really. I thought you were just over reacting—I've drunk plenty and on pain meds, you know."

"You did know we told you not to consume alcohol, that's what matters." Chris is giving no quarter.

"Okay, I knew and I did it anyway. I got nothing except I'm sorry, now can you please stop looking at me like that, or in the least tell me what I can do to make it up to y'all?"

"What do you think, Dals?"

"I think him having to hang out with the two of us for the rest of the night is punishment enough—though you really do deserve a spanking, Jake Travis."

Jake smiles and starts plucking out a tune on my guitar. "You both know being recalcitrant is part of my charm."

Chris drops the Chesney hat on Jake's head. "You're forgiven, but if you ever do something like that again, I'll make sure you don't sit comfortably for at least three days. Y'hear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Back to my original question, you hungry? I'm gonna do my first set soon, I'd like to get this sorted first, please."

"Never mind asking him, Dals. I'm going to get him food. Three beer and medication? he needs food."

"No one needs to worry about me going into a coma from the medication mixed with beer—I'll be in a food coma long before then."

"You just behave yourself, Sur. Yeah Chris, that sounds perfect. Bring something for me, darlin'?"

"'Course, Dals." I pull him in for a kiss and he leaves.

"Wow, he's terrifying when he wants to be."

"Don't mess with a Winchester," I laugh.

"Thought I was one, or am I kicked out already?" he asks, still idly plucking.

"I thought you didn't like when Chris did that—you suddenly want to be a Winchester now?"

"I wouldn't hate it."

My heart lifts and I'm having one of those moments where I don't want to say or do anything to ruin the moment, or make him change his mind, but being a Colt prevents me from having this feeling too long. "That's not getting you out of stayin' right here with us the rest of the night, Sur."

He continues plucking, but now he's putting together a song. "Do you see me tryin' to get out of anythin'?"

That's a good point, he isn't actually. Why isn't he?

"Yeah, so do you have to use so many, Surs? I'm behaving myself."

I smile. "Yeah for about five minutes at a time."

He looks up, cocking an eyebrow. "You know by now it's part of my charm."

"Okay, I'll lay off the Surs." I want to run my fingers through his hair and squeeze him, but he's wearing the hat and sitting, so I can't.

"Hey, so I was thinkin'," he begins. "You wanna, uh, do a song together, like the three of us?"

He says it like I might say no. In what universe would I say no to that? I can't stop the tears coming. "Of course, Jakey. I'd love that, so much. What were you thinkin'?"

"The obvious, a Chesney."

I tug on the brim of the hat. I can't hold back any longer. "C'mere, kid." He has no choice but to move the guitar aside as I tug him up and pull him to me.

_Gosh darn it. I love you Jake. So much._

**

"There you are Michael, where have you been?"

Michael is slouched in a chair, in the kitchen, surrounded by several million Colts and he looks pissed. He points a subtle finger to where Daddy is chatting with Auntie Georgia. "He commandeered me, for visiting."

I do something with Michael I don't often do in front of people, I slide up to him and put an arm around his shoulders, then lean down to kiss his head. "Daddy, can I have Michael back, please?"

Daddy pauses his conversation, looking over at me, chuckling. "Oh sure Dean Bean—where you been?"

"With Jake, then Jake, Uncle Chris and Uncle Dal." That's plenty of information, and all true and I'm hoping the little beer incident is over and forgotten. Uncle Dal chastised me for that, no need to carry on. Besides, if my parents find out I had three beers, I'm in fucking trouble.

"Okay. Well I think we're having cake soon, so don't go too far."

I tug Michael's hand and we head into the backyard. "Thank you for saving me," he says.

"Looks like I'm your prince charming today."

"Then I must thank you properly," he says, leering. Instead of me leading him, it's him leading me to the side of the house where it's dark and no Colts are paying attention. One strong hand grips its way up the back of my skull, tugging the roots of my hair, his other cinches my waist and I'll remember 'till I die why Michael is who I'm crazy for, when he plants his lips on mine and slips his tongue inside and we breathe together.

"Wow," I say when he pulls back.

"I missed you."

Okay, that's funny. I laugh. "It's been maybe two hours since I saw you."

"Maybe so, but it felt like forever. I had to listen to stories about your aunt's children when they were younger."

"That does sound awful, how did you survive it?"

He ignores my teasing. "Were you drinking beer? I can taste it."

"Now before you get upset, I've already been spanked for that." He doesn't need to know it was only a token spanking and not a real one.

"I will spank you before this night is through—I plan to erase all evidence of football head from your backside—but not for that. I didn't say you couldn't drink beer; I do think it's rude you didn't get one for me."

"Let's go get you one and then I think we're having cake."

"You can have cake, I'll drink beer."

"Okay, Michael, but I don't get it, you really wanted me to have that spanking from Brad, now you want to erase it?"

"I want to redeem my last Michael fun spanking."

"Michael."

"Fine. I just wanted you to be spanked by someone other than me or your family, to see what it was like. I forced myself to be okay with it, but I wasn't at all. I passed the time envisioning what I could paint with his entrails."

"That's the Michael I know and love. Well I came, I saw, he spanked and you know? I did learn something from it, something I think I could have only learned from him because he's outside the family. Y'all have been trying to teach me, but for whatever reason, it took Brad to get it through my thick skull."

"What's that?"

"Asking to be spanked. I hate doing that, but sometimes I need it and know I do and should really ask before I do something I regret."

"I don't mind you bratting your way into a spanking—makes it infinitely more fun for me."

I laugh again. "No need to worry about that, after Jake, I'm King Brat and there are still plenty of times I don't know I need a spanking, 'till all is said and done, but for other times when I do. I should ask."

"I'm hesitant about any 'lesson' you think you've learned from steroid boy, but if you say so."

"All right, enough serious crap. Let's go drink beer."

"Let's? Oh no. I'm having beer, you're cut off for the night."

"Michael. I'm not even drunk."

"I'll be the judge of that."

**

I finally find my husband. I've lost track of Dean, but he's surely up to some kind of Colt mischief with his cousins and while I like to keep mischief to a minimum, there is an amount that even Papas can overlook.

"Sam."

"Hey Cassy," he says, shyly tucking a piece of hair behind his ear and we get to have a moment; it's high school all over again and we've just started dating—Sam used to get shy then. It didn't matter that we'd known each other our whole lives and even messed around before we got together, when we began dating, Sam was shy and it was the sweetest thing. He's doing that now and it takes me back—I love that with Sam, our love is so magical, we get to relive moments like this.

"Mind if I steal this cowboy, Georgia?"

"Not at all, I was just going to grab some more wine anyway—they're going to need me on the dance floor soon."

She leaves and I kiss Sam. "You just missed Dean, he left with Michael."

"Exactly what I wanted to hear." I cannot say that without sarcasm.

"Oh Cas, they're fine. You going to release them from their confinement anytime soon?"

"They've hardly been confined."

"I think they would disagree."

"They shouldn’t, they earned that punishment, but yes, they've served their time. I'm going to release them after tonight."

He nods.

"You having a good time, Baby?"

"A great time."

I take Sam by the hand and pull him away from the kitchen and up the stairs where we won't be disturbed. I just want him for a minute. It's tradition. The challenge of getting him alone after Dean was fun, I still expect Dean to come through the door at any moment, crying for Daddy. Sam must be channeling his usual nostalgia, because I'm feeling it. All the memories of us flash before me and I think of him just before we got married. It feels like a long time ago—it was—and I remember him telling me how much he wanted a family. We went through the process to get on the registry for adoption a few years after we got married; we had one instance that fell through, which devastated Sam. At the time, I wanted destroy things, but it worked how it was supposed to; if that hadn't happened, we wouldn't have Dean.

But back before we were married, Sam and I were so young and I remember how boyish he looked. He's never lost that glint, even with how rugged he's become with age. "Cas, how can you look at me like that, even after all this time?"

"Like what, Baby?"

"Like you just fell in love with me."

I lean into kiss him, then pull the ring out of my pocket. "Open this."

"Cas, we weren't supposed to do gifts."

"I've been wanting to do this for awhile, c'mon. You know I like to spoil you too." Sam also likes to be spoiled.

He takes the ring box and opens it to find the ring—a white gold band with _five_ stones. One for me, Sam, Dallas, Dean, _and_ Michael represented by birthstone. Michael doesn't have a birthstone of course, so I used the birthstone from the month in which Sam always does a cake for him.

It's a family ring, of our immediate family, the ones that grew up in our home. "Oh, Cassy, I love it." He's got giant, Sam-sized tears, knowing what it is. "You even put Michael."

"Just because I hate the angel, doesn’t mean you do."

"You can't even say that with half the amount of gusto as when you really did hate him, Castiel Winchester. C'mere."

Sam kisses me, his face wet with tears. "Thank you Cas, this is special."

I have enough time to slide it onto his finger. "Happy birthday Sam Winchester."

"Happy birthday, Cas."

And we're getting shouted at. "You boys up there? It's time for cake."

"Coming Mama," Sam calls down at her.

It's a big cake. Dean squishes himself to the front of the cake crowd to stand with Sam along with Michael. "Look what Papa got for me," he says, showing off his ring; explaining it to Dean.

"Wow," Dean says.

"And that's you, Michael," Sam makes sure to show him.

Michael suddenly looks shy. "I'll never understand these ridiculous human rituals," he says.

"I think it's nice. Way to go, Papa—I'll make sure to stay far away from the bedroom tonight."

"Dean."

"What? Don't you two want alone time?"

"As if we've ever gotten alone time, since the day you came home young man," I say with a fond smile.

After cake, the music starts, Dallas, Christian and Jake with some Kenny Chesney and the night ends with me and Sam on the dance floor staring into the other's eyes feeling so much love for the other, until…

"Papa, tell Michael, Daddy gets to lead when you dance sometimes."

"As if that ever happens, have you met your parents?"

They're dancing by us and bickering as usual. I look at Sam and he can see me reconsider lifting their grounding for a moment and I really should; instead, I simply put an end to their argument in a way I know will give Sam the kind of good shivers he deserves on our birthday. "I always lead, and if Sam's ever unsure, I just spank him until he remembers it's true."


	42. '63 Monte Carlo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost want to say nothing before this chapter, but I feel the need to tell everyone that I have 2 chapters written, that's over 10K of words for this story. I'm only going to be able to post one tonight. 
> 
> I know some people were wondering why I hadn't been updating this story, so I wanted to say something about that too. It had a little bit to do with how important these next two chapters are. They're very important to the entire series and I wanted to make sure I got them as "right" as I could. It's hard to say if I've completely got them, but we'll see. I may have to make a couple of edits if I forgot something. 
> 
> And to Rose. I'm sorry. Don't kill me. I promise everything will get better and then it will be so, SO good.

"C'mon, Dean. Just a beer. You got time for a beer, don'tcha?"

Of course I have _time_ for a beer, I want a beer, but things are on my mind to sort through. On the other hand, the case is finished; I should have a break. "Okay, Travis. Beer it is."

I follow him to the pub, thinking about vampires and a case that's been itching my brain—something just ain't right, but I can't figure it out. I scourged Dad's journal and nothing. I make a mental note to chat with Bobby.

I follow Jake into the pub and we sit in a booth, served by a hot blonde with fuck me on her forehead. "Evenin', sweetheart," I say complete with leer. She's young, but definitely legal.

"What can I get you boys?" The way she smiles says she's used to assholes like me leering at her and I can for a good tip, but if I try anything, she'll embarrass the shit out of me and lay me flat. Okay, fair enough. It makes me want her more though.

"Two beers on my tab, Sherry and tell your mama I say hi," Jake says.

"You know her?" I ask when she walks off, breaking every heart in the room.

"My wife's sister's, girl."

Ouch. "Uh, sorry."

"I'm not worried about her, you're great Dean, but she'd kill yah."

I don't doubt it. "So what's happy hour all about?"

"Just a thank you. I needed your help, you came."

I raise both brows. "You know me better than that."

"Okay, I'm hoping for more help."

"No. Nope. I work alone. I helped you and now that's done." I get up to leave.

"She's pregnant, Dean."

I stop. "What?"

"My wife, she's pregnant, due soon."

I sit back down. "I don’t see what that has to do with me."

"Look, would you just hear me out? I know you and I know you'll find this interesting."

"Okay, Jake, but if this is a waste of my time, I'm blowing a hole in each of your tires and you can hitchhike home."

He laughs. "It's worth your time. You know we're a hunting family, like you and yer daddy."

Jake is from somewhere down South, where they call their dads, daddy. I can't imagine doing that. Ever. I mostly called my dad, sir. "Yeah, my dad raised me in it. I took over the family business when he sold his soul for me—everyone knows the fucking story Jake, get to the point."

"Then you should be familiar with the old hunting legend."

Oh yeah, the hunting legend. More of a fable they tell all the little hunter children to make them believe hunters are good and scare them into always hunting.

"It's not just a legend Dean, it's true."

I rub my head. This is giving me a headache and I could use some fucking sleep. "Yeah, yeah. I've met enough angels to know they're real and that they're dicks. Do you have a point?"

"Not just any angel Dean. Lucifer."

"Yeah, yeah. I know how the legend goes. God kicked Lucifer out of Heaven and made him human as punishment."

"Well, not quite human, but something like that. His brother was sent to look over him."

"Look, I don't remember stupid details like that. God got mad, he kicked out his son, like most parents do anyway, only Lucifer whined about it because he had to live amongst the mortals, yada, yada, yada. There's only one way back for him, the Stairway to Heaven, which honestly? It's like they ripped that line from a Zepplin song, just sayin'. The evil angel can't get back in because the stairway was hidden long ago and if it wasn't for the goodness and braveness of one great hunter, then the world would be a dark place. The end. Go to sleep Dean, eat your veggies, grow up strong and keep hunting."

"I can understand why you don't believe Dean, I didn't either—"

"—Jesus, is she fermenting the beer back there?" Because not only am I going to need alcohol to carry on with this conversation, but I deserve one for listening this far.

"Dean, please just, this is important. I think I found the stairway, a lead on it at least. There's a guy in California who—"

Sherry finally comes back with the beer, only this time, she could sit on my cock and I wouldn't give her the time of day. This conversation isn't sitting right with me. I don't like it, even if I do think it's all a bunch of garbage. I take a long pull and burp. "Look, I don't believe in fairytales, I sure as shit don't believe in hunter tales."

"I can't imagine why you don't—you know what's out there."

"My dad always said some things are too farfetched for even him to believe."

"Your dad was a great man, I give you that, but he didn't know everything Dean."

He's getting frustrated. Good. Maybe he'll leave me alone.

"Anyway, my thought was that if I can find it, so can Lucifer and if we act now, maybe there's something that can be done."

"There's no we about it. I don't mind helping you the odd time, but this, this is too much. I can't go on wild goose chases."

"It's not Dean. See I found out from this demon a while back—"

"—Now demons are involved?"

"Yeah, we had one trapped in our basement, got some good information out of it. Was how we got our first lead on this. They're sniffing it out too. But get this, you heard of spiking?"

"Yeah, some idiots shooting up people with that Modlenol crap."

"Not any idiots—demons and not any people, well maybe the odd civilian in the cross-fire and to throw hunters off the scent, but mostly hunters."

"That makes even less sense, dude. I have to say."

"I know Dean. It feels fucked up comin' outta my mouth, but it's true. I've been following this a long time—it's all detailed in my journal."

I drink more beer. "Why spike hunters when you can kill them?"

"I wondered that too, a long time. Then I pried more info, out of another demon—they need one hunter to open the stairway."

"They?"

"The demons."

"But not the angels?"

He shrugs. "The angels don't seem concerned with spiking anyone, so either they don't know, or don't need to, fucked if I know."

"Sounds like there's a lot you don't know."

"There is. I do know they don't know which hunter they need, which is why they can't kill any of'em."

"So they jack'em up with Modlenol, for safe keeping 'till they figure it out?"

"Yeah."

"That's a stupid fucking plan."

"They're demons, what do you want?" he says and shrugs. "You at least starting to believe me now?"

"No. Proof, Travis. I need proof."

He runs a hand through his long, dark, hair. "Look, I don't really have any."

"Then this is just a fable. Jake, it's been nice seeing you again, I gotta jet."

"It's not an actual stairway," he says desperately. "It's a woman made of gold."

"This just gets more fucked up."

"Look Dean, this is important. Isabelle's going to have Jake soon—"

"Junior?"

"Yeah, it's a boy. Isabelle wants to name him after me."

I don't get that, but hey, whatever you're into. "Let me guess, this is where I come in?"

"Yeah, we'd like to, exit hunting, but Dean, we can't just leave this case. Someone needs to take over."

"So? Phone Garth."

"Ah, well I was gonna, uh—"

"It's okay if you were gonna ask him before me."

"Yeah, but only because I knew you'd be like this."

"He turn you down for prom too?"

"He didn't. Fact, he was going to, but he, he was spiked."

"Garth was spiked? When'd this happen?"

"While we were hunting. Got a text, followed up the other night. He's adopted or something."

"Adopted?" Right. I seem to remember a law about that. When you're spiked, you are sent to live with a family.

"Yeah, says it's expected he'll end up in diapers."

That's fucked up. "We have something with this Modlenol thing. Does Bobby know?"

Jake shrugs. "Don't think so, was hard enough for me to get in touch with him."

"And the other thing?"

"If you don't believe me, think about what the other hunters would do."

"Point."

"So can you do it? You know what it's like to have a case hanging."

Yeah. I fucking do. "I will _look_ into the Modlenol thing, but that's as far as I'm promising."

He smiles and I know that fucking smile, it means he thinks I'm going to change my mind once I get going. Fucker. "You owe me for this Travis."

"Anythin'."

We finish our beer and head to our cars. Jake opens the trunk to his '63 Monte Carlo and pulls out something. A book. His journal. "Take this Dean, you'll need it for when you change your mind."

"Not changin' my mind Travis."

I do take the book from him, and look over the dark brown cover and worn edges, but then I fucking toss the thing back in his trunk. Annoyed, he slams it closed. "Yer real subburn, yah know, Dean?"

"It's been said."

"You still haven't told me what you want."

"Oh yeah, that. I want to be a legend. Make your kid think I'm the greatest thing ever and maybe I'll consider your lunacy."

Jake laughs. "You got it, Dean.

~**~

I hear the sound of hooves galloping into the distance and wake out of my dreams, to the quiet still air, the sun hitting my face, the chill of the morning over my skin. I must have passed out on the porch swing. I begin to sit up, but can't realizing I have a Michael on top of me. "Huh, Michael?"

He's actually asleep. I shake him a little. "Baby? Wake up."

"Huh? What? Dean?" He startles and jumps up, looking around wildly. "What happened?"

"I think we fell asleep."

"Where are your parents? I know they didn't okay this."

I look around and see we're not the only ones. There's more than us on the deck. Several Colts and their mates are scattered about all soundly sleeping, none of them are my parents. "Guess they weren't concerned."

"Weren't concerned, or never noticed?"

"Yuck—they probably ditched the party in favor of some birthday canoodling. Last I remember was Papa telling me to enjoy the rest of the party."

"He didn't give you a bedtime?"

"I'm seventeen, Michael. I don't have a—" his narrowed eyes cut me off. "Okay, so sometimes I have a bedtime, but not last night," I say, still keeping my voice hushed.

"What should we do?"

"Probably change into pajamas for one, then climb into our own be—what?"

"You're going to go straight to your parent's room once you're in your PJ's."

"Don't be ridiculous." I say that like Balki, from Perfect Strangers, which I know he still closet watches with Tom.

He smirks.

"Okay fine, but they left me outside in the cold." I'm due some fucking cuddles.

"Come along," he whispers, tugging me up. We have to step over Colts left and right. There are more asleep in the living room, on the couch and on the floor as we make our way to the stairs.

**

"Jake. Jake!" Every night, since Jake's come into our lives, I have the same dream. I wake up to find out Jake's gone. It's what's made me get up often in the night to check on him, but since we've been staying at Mama's and sleeping in my old bedroom, I usually reach for him frantically and catch whatever t-shirt he wore to bed by the hem. It wakes him some, but he doesn’t complain, indulging me.

I do that now and panic a bit, opening my eyes when I feel nothing. My stomach does an awful swoop. "Jake."

"Shhh, shhh, go back to sleep, Dals."

I don't listen to Chris and sit up, placing a hand square on his chest stopping him as I look around.

 _He's not here._ My heart picks up rhythm. Chris sees what I see and that's no Jake. "Now, Dals, he's likely gone to get OJ, or to piss, or any number of somethings—you've got to stop worryin' so much."

"I'll worry as much as I please, Christian Winchester," I say, but lay back down.

He knows I'm not kidding around, so there's no more teasin', but he does add, "Y'know, you're all mister big bad wolf with me, I didn't peg you for bein' such a Mama hen, but I should have."

"Chris…"

"No, I like it. Love it. I'm not teasin'—it's a welcome thing. I've been enjoyin' watchin' you with him."

"I still think you need a spanking. Careful." I'm in no mood. Jake's got me on edge. I wish he'd notify me when he gets up.

"Yes, sir."

From outside the door, we hear voices. Dean and Michael. Hushed. Bickering. "You can come, Michael. Just sleep on the floor again."

"I don't need anymore sleep."

"You want the comfort though."

What on Earth? I get up—I'm in what constitutes as PJ's—and open the door to see the backs of the pair. "Dean. Half pint," I say quietly. It's still early, I don't want to wake the whole house. Dean and Michael look back, shrug at each other and head over to me. They're both still in pajamas. "You seen, Jake?"

They look at the other, having a wordless conversation, then back to me. "We haven't seen him since last night. Just woke up ourselves."

That gives me the worst feeling. Chris is right, I'm worrying too much, but that's what Mama Hens do. This time, I have reason. "Thanks, half pint. Where you headed?"

"To bug my parents."

To get Sam to make him breakfast he means. I rub my face. "Naw, meet me in the kitchen. I'm getting up. I'll make you breakfast." He can be there to do the dishes.

"That's not what—" Dean says, cut off by Michael elbowing him. "Uh, yes sir. We'll see you down there."

I close the door and look back to Chris who's slowly climbing his way off the blow up mattress. He's different now though, full of Winchester concern. "Dals, I—"

"I know. He's gone isn't he?" I already know it's true.

"Now don't say that yet. He's just takin' a piss I know it." Chris doesn't believe that. He's pulling off his pajama pants and sliding into a pair of jeans. "Yeah, see?" he says pointing to the hook on the wall where the Chesney hat rests at night. "Hat's gone. He wouldn't take the hat. He might leave, but he wouldn't take the hat."

That's not right either though. Jake never puts it on himself. He always waits for one of us to do it, like it means more, like we're knighting him ours each time. Jake'll deny it and throw a hissy fit when Chris or I say so, but he likes being ours.

I follow suit with Chris, getting dressed and trying not to think of him as gone yet. But truth is, I'm not barreling down the stairs this time, because I know there's no point in doing so—I want to prolong the not knowing this time. When we're dressed, we bump into a sleepy Sam in the hallway. "Heya—Dal? What's going on?"

"We think Jake's gone," Chris supplies. I don't know if I can speak.

That wakes Sam. "I'll go get Cas."

"Meet us in the kitchen."

Chris and I step over Colts splayed here and there. In the kitchen, Dean's got little Julie who's got a sippy cup of fresh juice and Michael has my mini-counterpart and is helping him with a homemade Colt cracker, even though Dally is more than capable to eat it himself. "These guys wandered out here. Aunty Caroline asked if we could watch them while she showered."

"That was nice of you half pint," I say and everyone can hear how deflated I sound.

Dean's concerned, much in the same way Chris is. "What's going on, Uncle Dal?"

"We think Jake's gone," Chris says.

Dean's eyes pop wide, he bites his lip. "Uncle Dal… I thought it was a dream I, I, it was, I think he—follow me."

He scoops up Julie, just as Cas and Sam enter the kitchen. "Follow Dean," I say behind me.

We follow Dean to the barn, to Damien's stall. Damien's gone. In his place on a stool is the Chesney hat, with a note under it. I grab it up, tears already in my eyes and open the folded paper. "What's it say, Uncle Dal?"

"It says, _Don't look for me._ " I don't know what I expected. Thank you? A declaration of how much we meant to him?

Suddenly, I can't breathe right. Chris catches me around the waist as my knees buckle. "We'll find him, Dals. It'll be okay."

I turn and shake my head into the crook of his neck. We won't. I know we won't. "He don't wanna be found," I say brokenly and through tears.

"I'm going to kick that cowboy's ass," Dean says.

"Dean Winchester," Sam scolds.

"Sorry, Daddy, but I mean it. I told him, warned him not to hurt Uncle Dal."

"I-it's okay, half-pint." I don't want him running off half-cocked to find Jake, even if I want to do just the same.

"Let's everybody calm down," Cas says taking control of the situation. "Who was the last person to see Jake?"

A cacophony of stories breaks out, but all of us saw him at one point, or another and we can't figure out who saw him last. I pulled him into the bedroom with me and made him go to bed, but Dean says he saw him after that, which means he sneaked out of the bedroom well before dawn and Chris thought he'd put him to bed at around one am, but then Michael's sure he caught a glimpse of him at around three am in the kitchen grabbing orange juice. No one's sure if he went back to bed or not.

"We've still got a move to make today," Cas declares. "And the church fundraiser. Dean, Sam, Michael, you three get ready for church. You're going whether I am or not."

"What? No way. We want to help look for Jake," Dean says, forgetting he's talking to his father.

Cas reminds him. "Excuse me, little boy?"

Dean falls quiet, mumbling a very pouty 'sorry'.

"Better. Your grandfather will expect you at church, especially on the day of the fundraiser, so you're going. Get ready and if there's time, you can help. As for the rest of us, let's get every hand we've got to search the grounds and the surrounding area, in case something happened to him. Where are the twins?"

There are a lot of sets of twins in our family, but we know which ones he means. "I'll find them," Chris says, kissing my head. "I'll take this one with me."

"Okay. Everyone meet back here in an hour."

The thought of looking for him, even though I don't think we'll find anything is heartening. Just the looking's like keeping him with me a little longer. I don't have to say goodbye just yet. Chris grabs the hat and moves to place it on my head. "No," I say.

Chris says yes with his eyes. He hesitates putting it on his own head, but then he seems to come to a decision and he finally does place it down over his hair. "I'm holdin' it for him. Safe keepin'. Now c'mon cowboy. You're with me."

Normally I lead Chris, but right now, I give it all over to him and follow him blindly wherever he's going to go.

~**~

"This sucks. Why do we have to go to stupid church anyway? Jake's missing." I tie my tie, pissed the whole time. I bet even Grampa will say church is cancelled in light of this.

"If you want to continue arguing with Papa Winchester, by all means, but it's your funeral," Michael says perfecting his own tie. Man he does look good dressed up for church as he is. It's turning me the fuck on. I want to jump his bones.

"No one's arguing with Cas," Daddy says, peeking his head in the open door to my bedroom, which is all packed up now and ready to move to the Winchester's. "You behave yourself Sur, we've got enough going on."

"I will Daddy, I'm just complaining. I want to look for Jake." I miss the asshole, at least that's what I'll tell him, right after I punch him in the teeth for this.

"I know you do, sweetheart," Daddy says, coming over to fix my tie.

"I don't understand why you're all bothering. He's a hunter. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. Clearly, he's been planning this."

Daddy's face twists into his displeased expression as he finishes with my tie. It's for Michael, but only I can see it because he's facing me. He let's Michael know what he thinks of that. "We're bothering, because he's family, Sur."

Michael bites his lip, a quirk I just know he got from Uncle Dal through osmosis, like me. "I was just pointing out—"

"—don't point that out in front of Dallas. He's this close to losing it." And Daddy has spoken.

"Yes, sir," Michael says, chagrined.

Daddy's normally a lot more tolerant of Michael's angel insincerity, but looks like he's worried too. Still, it's never a bad time for me to collect brownie points. "I agree, Daddy. Which is why we should all be looking."

That gets me a swat to my ass. "Ow!" I swear to Christ, I hear a rusty laugh inside my head.

"Behave, Dean Winchester. We're going to obey your father. There will be enough Colts and Winchesters looking for him. We need people on the fundraiser too."

I scratch the back of my neck sheepishly. Daddy finally gives us a tired smile. "There, you're about done. Go fix your hair. Michael?" Daddy turns to look Michael over, a Michael who feels regretful over his comment if his puppy with his ears back look is anything to go by. "Aw c'mere sugar bean. I know you didn't mean it, but you will need to watch what you say in front of, Dallas," Daddy says, pulling Michael to him.

I'm surprised when Michael goes without a fuss and I understand. We were both really looking forward to those morning snuggles. I don't know about him, but I feel jipped not getting them – I'll punch Jake for that too if I ever see him again.

I worm my way into the hug pile.

~**~

There's plenty of time before church for looking. We've got everyone on the case, even the little ones. Michael and I've got a couple; watching them call out Jake is real cute. "I will refrain from saying this in front of your uncle, Dean, but I don't think we're going to find Jake. He's a hunter and he doesn't want to be found, look how hard it was for Jensen and Jared to find him in the first place."

Papa heads toward us with Daddy. "There you are Kiddo."

"Auntie Georgia's here, Dean Bean. She's going to take us to the church fundraiser."

I nod.

"Sir," Michael says stepping forward. "I could ask my uncle for his assistance." That Michael would ask his uncle to do something he'd normally call a fool's mission is really saying something.

"Thank you, Michael," Papa says. "I'll speak with Dallas and see what he and Christian would like to do."

Michael nods, we're all very somber.

Suddenly there's commotion from across the yard, over near the driveway. Cousin Sammy's riding in on a horse. Like a water brigade, Colts signal to other Colts scattered throughout Nana and Grandaddy's large acreage. We've been looking up and down every inch, through the trees, in the ditches, just in case something… unthinkable happened to Jake and he was stuck somewhere in trouble. Others are out driving. We've done everything except contact the police, for obvious reasons. Usually hunter's criminal records don't reflect so highly, we have no idea what Jake's might say.

We head over to cousin Sammy. "I'll text Dal," Daddy says and does so as we walk over.

The horse cousin Sammy's on is Damien. "Found him twenty miles East of here," cousin Sammy says.

"Jake'll have needed a vehicle for him to get anywhere of use," Papa points out.

"A '63 Monte Carlo," I say. At first I don't know where it comes from, but as I play it back in my mind and note the lack of 'in stereo' sound that comes with it, I know I didn't say it alone. Naturally, everyone looks at me. Michael looks like he's about to have a panic attack.

Papa gets it. "Look for a '63 Monte Carlo then. Church crew, to church. The rest, back to searching."


	43. The One Where Everyone's Emotional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *think* this is how it should be. I reserve the right to go back and edit if I forgot something ;)

"Why do you suddenly have parents, Garth?" I show up at Garth's house, only to find it's not his house at all, but some place he lives with the Applewood family. What the fuck is an Applewood family? Fucking Jake Travis going on about hunter legends got me all creeped out and I had to follow the only lead I took from our conversation. Garth.

"I'm a kid now, or at least, I will be."

"What the hell happened?" I know the story from Jake, but I want to hear Garth's version.

"I was spiked," he says and shrugs. "They don't know who did it."

Interesting, since Travis is so sure it's demons. "So what, they make you have parents?"

"Yeah, rules of the state—all the states. They found me passed out in an alley, or so I'm told—can't really remember that part—and when they found Modlenol in my system, they put me up for adoption, even though I was still twenty-five at the time. That was a week ago."

"More info dude, all of that is fucking confusing." Not to mention pretty meaningless.

"Sorry. It's confusing for me too. I've been told I'm not finished modifying yet. They think I'm about seventeen now, but that I'll get younger. Apparently I'm lucky and for some reason modify slower than they've been seeing."

"Slower?"

"Yep. Slower. I don't know much about it, but remember Arthur?"

I nod. Another hunter.

"He went from thirty to thirty-two months in the space of a week—that Modlenol shit is unpredictable."

Huh. "Unpredictable? Reminds me a little bit of those werepires we fought," I say trying to make a joke, lighten the mood. Everything feels heavy.

It's Garth's turn to look confused. "Werepire?"

"Yeah, don't you remember? I'd never seen one and I thought you were fucking with me?"

His eyes tell me he's coming up blank.

"That was just last month, Garth." An eerie feeling creeps over me.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I, I don't remember going on that hunt with you."

"Don't remember?"

"Yeah. Side effect of the Modlenol. Everything's real hazy. I remember you, but there's probably shit I don't remember, like the werepire thing, from even a short time ago. I can't even remember anything from the week before they found me and I have a sneaking suspicion a lot of the little stuff is gone."

I scratch my head. This is fucked up. I was not expecting this. "Is there anything else you can tell me. Anything at all?"

"Sorry Dean. I wish I could."

"Naw man, it's okay. How about talking with Jake Travis? You remember anything about him?"

"Jake Travis?"

Holy fuck. Fucking eerie. He doesn't remember him at all. His eyes reflect no recollection. What the hell is going on here?

"Sorry, Dean."

"But you seem to remember me fine."

"There's not much rhyme or reason to this stuff, just be happy I can. Someday, I may not."

"Any chance you remember what you were doing, before you were found in that alley?"

He thinks for a moment. "California."

Too many people are talking about California. Fuck, fine. Looks like I'm going to California. There's a vamp nest there I've been meaning to take out anyway.

~**~

"Dean. Dean? Wake up."

I wake with a start, Michael's standing over me. "Shit." I passed out.

"Don't worry, I've been keeping an eye out for you and running our booth," Michael tells me.

I yawn. "Thanks, Baby."

I can't help thinking that originally I was meant to run this station with Jake.

Ha! We would have been doing something that no one would agree with and likely be getting spanked shortly thereafter for. _I've lost my brat-buddy. Fucking dick._

I'm surprised Michael let me sleep, but on second glance of him, he's concerned, so maybe not so surprising. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," I shrug.

His nose twists.

"Are you still worried about earlier?" I ask.

"I know it wasn't your brain that came up with '63 Monte Carlo."

"If we're going with Daddy's theory, it's still my brain."

"Theory. That's the magic word. Theory. I don't trust it, or Old Dean."

It's hard not to roll my eyes. "What do you think 'Old Dean's' going to do? Mind control me like a puppet?"

Michael does not like I've said that, or the air quotes I put around Old Dean. His expression is pure rage. "He already has and as soon as I figure out how to do it without hurting you, I'm destroying him."

"Jeez Michael." He's seriously overreacting. Pretty sure he's still sore over the whole barn-bruising incident, where he had to throw me and thus the huge bruise.

"But onto other topics that make me less filled with homicidal rage. Our booth, is selling out again. Mrs. Amundson came with her grandsons and took half our product. She says she's too frail to make her own jam anymore. You humans are so breakable."

I stare at Michael like I've never seen him before. He's just done a bunch of weird shit. First he stopped his _own_ homicidal rage – he loves homicidal rages! Next, he's fucking crooning over Mrs. Amundson and her grandsons like he adores the whole thing – the jam, the buying of the jam, the all of it. Sure he commented on human frailty, but he's kinda right and he didn't have an ounce of scorn behind it – it was pure jest. What the hell? "What is up with you?"

"Nothing."

"You're smiling about jam Michael."

Instead of putting on his usual Michael act, he bites his lip (which he's been doing a-fucking-lot lately). "It's nice. I like this. I hope," he looks around. "I expect us to be making jam someday and then forcing… other youths to sell it for us."

 _What does that even mean?_ "Um, okay Michael."

Michael and I continue working our booth until we get down to the wire. I notice, of the jars we have left, one of the bows is tied really fucked up. I snatch it out and put it to the side. Michael asks what the fuck am I doing with his eyes. "Jake's. For Uncle Dal."

This'll be the first Texas church fundraiser in my memory that Uncle Dallas won't be playing at. It's a bit depressing. Everything feels like it's falling apart.

Changing.

~**~

"I say, well I say welcome, Michael," Grampa says to Michael, both like it's his first time ever meeting Michael and like they're best buds. "Can I get you a beer?"

Michael's old enough to drink beer, in both angel and human, but I can tell he still feels weird about it. "I'll just have water, sir."

"Nonsense. I know you like beer. How about one for you, Dean?"

"Why yes Grampa I'll—"

" _He'll_ have orange juice," Papa says, with a not so pleased look toward me. What'd I do? He offered. "Dean, go help Daddy with the rest of the bags."

No one lets me have any fun. "Yes, sir."

But when I see Daddy struggling, I feel bad. Daddy's not the type to struggle with a couple of bags. He's big, he's strong, he's superdaddy – but he's fucking struggling. The Jake thing's affecting him too. "Can I help you, Daddy?" I mean with the bags, but also in general.

"Thank you Dean Bean. Yeah, take this one." He hands me Michael's bag.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine baby boy, but I'm worried about your uncle. He's not doing so good."

"They'll be here soon though, yeah?" The plan was for them to move with us.

"Yep, for dinner," Daddy says, dragging his and Papa's suitcases with us.

When we arrive back inside, Gramma's there with drinks for us. "Georgia did an excellent job, Sam," Gramma says. "I didn't get the chance to tell her. I'll send her a note of course, but I wanted to say so."

"Thank you, Mother," Daddy says. "She'll like that."

"Dean, I didn't get the chance to tell you how sorry we are your friend is missing," Gramma adds, handing me the orange juice Papa requested on my behalf.

Why is Jake suddenly my best friend?"

"Thank you, Gramma." Sure I miss having the guy around, but we were not biffers, even if we looked like it. We were _made_ to hang out all the fucking time. We pissed each other the hell off. Like right now. Soon as I see that guy, lemme tell you. Hell. Raining down on him in the form of my raging fist of fury.

We hear a car pull up in the driveway, we know it must be Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris; we all give silent agreement to each other to Voldemort the topic of Jake. In other words, don't fucking talk about it.

When they come wheeling in with their suitcases, I note that Uncle Chris has the same smile painted on him as he did this morning. It's the kind of faux-happy expression you wear when you're trying to keep someone else's spirits up, even if you're dying inside, which is exactly what he's doing. I can see how exhausted he is from being strong for Uncle Dal.

"Howdy," Uncle Dal says quietly. He's being polite like always.

"Come here, Dallas," Gramma Claire says, pulling her to him and she must be able to sense something, because she pulls him with her in the direction of the stairs.

Soon as they're out of sight. Uncle Chris finds the nearest wall to kick. "Dammit, Jake!" he says. "Do you know that all day, he's looked like that and there's not a God damned thing I can do about it?"

Even Grampa lets Uncle Chris's explosion go. "I'm sorry, Christian," Papa says and from the way he glances at me, I'd say he's thinking, "what if he was in the same position?" I promise we're doing everything we can."

"I know ya are, Castiel and we appreciate it. I just wish… well when I find that boy, I'm dragging him in by his ear."

"Y'all are bein' nonsensical if you ask me," Grampa says.

"No one did ask you," Chris says, knowing like I do that no, no one did ask him, but he's only being polite saying that – Grampa says what he likes to.

" _Voldemort. Voldemort,_ " I try to say under my breath at Grampa, but he must not remember what that means. He keeps going.

Grampa's look, well, let's just say it's a look you don't want from Grampa. "I'm willing to be tolerant some, but I still ask you to be respectful. And besides, like I was goin' t'say, if you'd let me finish, have faith. If somethin's yours it comes back to you."

"That's the problem, sir. He wasn't ours to begin with." Some of the tears Uncle Chris has been holding in all day, leak out.

"If that's the case, I suggest you start letting him go. You can't keep what ain't yours."

Uncle Chris has no use for what Grampa's saying right now. "Excuse me. I'd better check on my husband to be." He wipes his eyes.

"Father, all due respect, but couldn't you be a little more sensitive? Must you always exercise tough love?" Papa says when Uncle Chris is out of earshot, and I'm shocked. Papa doesn't often talk to Grampa like that.

"Humph. Tough love. I was easy on that boy. This is a time for honesty, not sugar coatin'. With a boy like Jake, he'll come back, or he won't. They might as well accept that now. Dinner will be served shortly. I'm going to wash up."

He comes across as insensitive, but Grampa's as worried as anyone else. He doesn't like it when his family's upset and he'll do whatever needs doing to get us back on track, even if that means bulldozing us with truth and sense. It's just his way.

Because as much as none of us want to admit it, he's right; Jake'll come back if he wants; he'll stay gone if he wants. Nothing we can do about it.

~**~

Dinner is fucking awkward.

Uncle Dal is like a stone statue, who talks and moves when he absolutely has to, but he's stiff and cold looking. He's still polite and makes effort to smile, but it's _not_ his patented Uncle Dal smile. It's _so_ wrong, it creeps me the fuck out.

Grampa does a decent job of keeping the conversation flowing, but it's tough. Everyone's minds are elsewhere. At the end of the meal, Uncle Chris and Uncle Dal excuse themselves, Michael and I spend some time with Gramma and Grampa before we're sent off to bed (in separate fucking bedrooms of course, which is stupid and unfair and probably thanks to my parents), and Daddy and Papa have an early night.

~**~

I'm kissing Sam with fire tonight. I can't stop the thoughts my mind has been flooded with. "Mmmmph, mmmmmhmm, Cas," he says, exhaling. "Fu- _uck_."

I grab his dick; my hand is wet – lube – and I use hard strokes to bring him to the edge. We both need this, _like_ this. His lips are pliant under mine, and as always, I love the kind of soft resistance Sam offers me. I know he's strong, he could have me pinned to the bed in one swift move – that message is clear in the energy of the kiss – but he disarms himself for me, he's for me and he knows it, so he doesn't act on that energy, instead letting it transform into the beads of sweat on our bare skin, dropping away, leaving nothing but him to do as I wish with.

When we're both satisfied, I'm lying on my back, Sam's curled around my torso, trying to make out like he's not a giant. I push the front of his hair back and press my lips to the top of his head. "Did that help you, Baby?"

"A little. You?"

"Marginally."

"I know it's selfish, but the whole day, I was thinking about when Dean came to us and what if he had run away from us?" Sam says.

"He did attempt a vampire raid."

That gets me a small laugh. "He did, silly boy. But what if he'd left us, like Jake left Dally and Chris?"

"He didn't, Sam," I say and we both know I'm just trying to soothe him; I've been thinking it too. It's not a good line of thinking – shoulda, coulda, woulda – but the oppressing nature of the day has us both trapped in fictional torments.

"Maybe, maybe we should have tried harder to find him a cure for Modlenol. Maybe Dean, Old Dean, didn't want to be with us, Cas. Oh god, we forced him to be with us, didn't we? We're awful people."

"There is no cure for Modlenol, Sam—"

"—so we know. So we let the doctors tell us – ow!"

I pinch the bottom I spent a good hour spanking. "As I was saying, there is no cure for Modlenol. We did what we felt was right considering what we knew. We were the best option for Dean, even Bobby said so."

I can feel Sam nodding in the darkness. "You're right, Cas. You are, I'm just, yeah, these are all silly thoughts."

We lie silently, awhile longer when I have a thought that seems to come from nowhere. "You know, I think Old Dean _did_ choose us, Sam. Think about it. We now know Old Dean was never really gone, just quiet."

"That's still just a theory, Cas."

"Maybe, but it's one I believe more and more; mostly because you came up with it and my husband is one smart man, but also because of mounting evidence. Old Dean takes over when he really needs to, otherwise, he let's Dean live his life."

"If we're going by my theory, they're all Dean, our Dean."

"Yes and I agree with you, Baby, but it's a bit easier for me to digest thinking of Old Dean as someone else. Let me live with my denial."

He laughs. "It's not all denial, I suppose. Old Dean might be a bit more like an old version of software, anyway. Dean's been updated, the old memories, and files are still there, but he doesn't remember to access them. The flaw in that analogy though, is that the part of Dean, that is Old Dean seems to have active control over what Dean sees and remembers."

"Well, even on a computer, you're not going to access old files unless you have need for them and when you do, you have to go looking for them. It's not too flawed, my love." I kiss his head again. "But my point is, Dean, _Old Dean_ was silent all these years 'till now, suggesting he was all right living with us and if that's not enough, we know he is around in one form or another and Dean's still here."

"F-for now," Sam says, his breath hitching.

"Not 'for now'. He's not going anywhere Sam. I'm sure of it."

"We also know Dean still has hunter's blood. It's just in him, Cas."

"That may be so, but he's become our boy and our boy follows the rules… most of the time."

That makes Sam laugh.

"And I hate to say it, but my father is right. We have to trust Dean wants to stay with us – Old Dean included. If Dean is Old Dean and Dean loves us, then that means Old Dean loves us too."

"You know, Cas. You have a point there." I can hear the tension leaving his voice.

"Of course I do. I already said this, but it bears repeating; my husband is a smart man, I believe his theories."

Sam squeezes me tight. "Well I did marry you."

We're both quiet for some time more, still aware that the other hasn't fallen asleep. "But Cas?"

"Yeah, Baby?"

"If I am wrong, you'll spank Old Dean if he tries to take our Dean away, won't you?"

"Indubitably. There should never be any doubt about that."

~**~

"What do you think you're doing?" Michael says.

"That should be obvious," I say climbing up and under his sheets from the floor.

"Did you crawl here?"

"Yeah. It's called being sneaky."

"Believe me, you weren't that sneaky, now sneak your way back to your room."

"I will," I say to Michael, making myself at home, "but I needed to talk to you." I smoosh my feet into his armpits, arranging myself so that my head is by his feet.

"Why must your feet always feel like they've been cut off from your body's blood supply?"

"Why must you always complain about that? Just warm'em up, wouldja?"

"For the love of…" Michael finishes that sentence in a growl, but he does begin warming my feet. "What did you need to talk about, that couldn't wait until morning?"

"I want to rage holy hell on Jake. Look what he did to poor Uncle Dal and Chris."

"You humans, always with the victimizing. Understand – though it is beyond me as to why – I do feel for your uncles, but Jake didn't do anything _to_ them. He even told them straight out that he was leaving."

"You've already been hanging around Grampa too long." Seriously. I think Michael has hero-worship over Grampa Winchester.

"I won't deny it, I've always thought your grampa was an upstanding fellow, and through the course of this trip, I have grown yet more, well I guess it could be called affection, for him, but that is not why I hold the opinion I do. They knew he would leave."

"Well you don't ask to fall in love with someone. It's not like they wanted to chose the path that would get their hearts broken."

"No, but that goes both ways. Jake didn't ask them to love him either. He can't stop his life because two humans happened to idolize him."

He can be so in-fucking-sensitive sometimes. "Daddy was right about you, you're a huge asshole."

"That is not what he said about me."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Dean!" Michael hisses. But he still works on warming my feet.

"Okay, so he might not have phrased it like that, but c'mon. Why d'you gotta be so cold about the whole thing?"

"I'm not being cold, I'm being factual. If more of you could be like me, you'd suffer less."

Oh, I get it. "Daddy was wrong," which isn't often, "you're not being insensitive, you care a lot. You hate seeing Uncle Dal so upset; his upset is what's making you say all of these things. You're trying to cauterize their pain." He's being like Grampa.

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Michael!"

"So what if I am? Dallas is in a lot of pain, I… I've not seen him in quite this level of pain. He hurt many times over Christian, and I thought that was bad, but this is somehow worse, if in a different way."

Yeah. It fucking is. "Do you really think Jake isn't coming back? Or were you just being the insensitive dick, Daddy said you were?" This time I'm just teasing. He knows it.

"I think it's been too long since you've been spanked," he comments. "As for Jake, I don't know. I'm an angel, not a prophet. I've offered to enlist what services we can."

"That's good. Thanks Baby," I say feeling a little better about the whole thing. I can't fathom why, nothing's solved and Uncle Dallas and Chris having to get over Jake is a real possibility, but there's a mystical quality to this night and it's sucking me in. "Michael. I need you, will you…?"

I expect a flat out no, which is why I don't lay it on too thick. Michael's been strict these days, and I'm sensing good behavior is the better choice. Tops would argue that good behavior is _always_ the better choice, but I say, 'what fun is that?' Unless your name is Papa then best behavior for the win. So I'm fucking surprised when I get, "Oh god Dean, I need to stick my cock in you."

I'm so surprised, I stupidly argue as he throws off the covers and drags me up the bed by the foot he's holding. "But, but, aren't you worried Daddy and Papa could hear us?"

Michael's eyes are glowing with desire. I don't think he fucking cares if the Minister can hear us right now. "I'm an angel I can be quiet. The question is," he says crawling over top of me, "can you?"

I don't fucking answer because his mouth is devouring mine. I remember the first time we kissed, how addictive it was, how long we made out on a bed just like this one. Michael pulls me up by the nape of my neck, still kissing me and sitting me up. Expertly, he peels my shirt up an over my head, parting from my lips to allow the shirt to clear my head and to stare at me in wonder. "Dean you're… you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He dips his head in to kiss me again.

"Only a moment ago you thought you should spank me," I say in between kisses, which are more like little nips, like he's tasting me or something.

"Oh I do. You manage to make me wanting to spank the fuck out of you, as often as I want to fuck you, a feeling all on its own, but right now, I want you close as possible and mine."

I help him remove his sleep-shirt, I want to see him, feel his naked skin slip under mine as he takes me. I admire him too, running my fingers along his abs and I notice something I haven't before; Michael's hair has gotten a little longer and Papa hasn't said anything. God I'd love to see his body slick and wet with hair like that.

I love the feeling when his fingertips reach under the elastic of my pajama pants. My cock tingles, fuck my whole pelvic region tingles at that very moment, with the tingles rising as he drags my pants off. Suddenly, I'm desperate to see his cock too, so I yank at his pants (far less gracefully) and just stare at its wonder. "It's nice, isn't it?" Michael says, his usual smirk a half smile.

I laugh into his neck. "It's more than nice, now stick it in me cowboy."

He leans over me again, forcing me to lie down, pushing my right leg back and over my head. There's lube and a finger sliding into me, but instead of lengthy prep, Michael decides to sink his cock into me slowly, allowing me to adjust to it and when I do there are some slow long strokes to warm me up, but that's all the slow and long there is. The rest of our sex is fierce and violent, both of us clawing at skin and air with attempts to be closer to one another, achieving the feeling for milliseconds at a time, but never being allowed to keep the feeling of being coupled deep enough.

We both come, panting, but trying to be as quiet as we can. And fuck him, he's right, he's a lot more fucking quiet than I am. He takes his cock out and replaces it with his fingers, playing with my hole and the come (his come) that's leaking out of it. Because of what I'm assuming is my awesome-ass, (short) teenage refractory period (I won't really know 'till I'm old again, but I'm always reading shit like that on the internet), my cock is hardening again.

 **Trust me kid. It is your awesome-ass, teenage refractory period,** Old Dean says.

Yeah. I'm going to fucking ignore the fact that Old Dean is here while Michael and I are sexing it up.

Michael's angel wonders have him ready to go again too and he's sliding into me again, the come on my stomach and our sweat, making us sticky and messy in the best way.

We're on our fourth round, my hands are pinned above my head and I'm so fucking sex-drunk, as Michael continues to fuck into me, he could ask me to do just about anything right now and I'd fucking agree to it. He doesn't though, he just stares at me, with so much love in his eyes, a kind I know has always been there, but I wonder why I haven't seen it in quite this way before? "Remember when we were kids," (I love that Michael occasionally will admit that he was a kid with me) "and you'd tell me I was yours and no one can have me, but you?"

I… well it seems like something I would say and I do feel that way – if anyone fucking tries to take Michael from me, I'll end them – but did I phrase it that way? Maybe I was too young. Michael's the one with super angel memory. I'm sure I did. He's always telling me stories of when we were young I don't remember.

**You said it, kid and you meant it, but I may have helped you out with some of those.**

What the actual fuck? Fucking Old Dean!

"Yeah, Baby. I remember," I conclude.

"Is that still true?"

I'm filled with a sudden surge of possessiveness that's not entirely my own, or maybe it's all my own, but some of it's borrowed from the way Old Dean _felt_ possessiveness. I let Michael continue to hold my arms pinned as they are, but I grip his torso with my legs like a vice and all sex halts momentarily. "It's still fucking true," I say and it's me saying it, really me, but Old Dean's bleeding into my voice at the same time. It's a fucking weird sensation.

Michael starts a bit, and nods, biting his lip. Holy fuck. I've scared Michael. He seems to collect himself and he pulls me up by my arms, and hooks them around his neck, his cock still inside me. I smile big and stupid at him, to hopefully erase whatever thing I did that scared him, from his face (though it's always a bit fucking cool when I can scare Michael) and because I just love him so damn much. It works. He smiles back at me, then nuzzles into my neck. We fuck three more times before I'm too exhausted to do anything other than close my eyes and he doesn't even pester me to get up and head back to my room.

~**~

When I enter again, I feel like a Minotaur, my eyes angry and seeing red at the rims, but with the upright stance of a human on the edge of rage. He's been crying so hard, I know his eyes must hurt and I'm amazed that the human body can make so many tears.

Dals and I already talked earlier, after my mother came up and said soothing words to him, which were enough to help him manage dinner, barely, but then it all came bubbling up again. I had a fit, throwing clothes and pretty much anything non-breakable I could get my hands on. Normally, that's something he would have spanked me for and immediately, but Dals is in no state to spank anyone. I damn near went to someone for one just for him, which would have pleased him, but I was able to get it together, excuse myself and calm down enough to come back.

I'm calmer now, but I'm riding the edge and I can tell we both need something physical to work out our feelings with. Talking's done for now – we've talked and cried and yelled all we can for today.

Dals and I don't adhere to any sort of protocol when it comes to sex. He's the Top of my world, the man I let tell me what to do, the man I let spank me when I need it, the man I've asked to keep me in line, but in bed, we switch a lot. It's not quite fifty-fifty, Dallas is one dominant mother fucker, but it's closer than I imagine Cas and Sam are – not that I'd ever ask, or want to know, or do know for that matter, but I just _know_ my brother and well that's the way I see it going.

Dals and I have never really talked about it, it just happens naturally for us; the who does what in the bedroom. And while we may have fucked around with that "BDSM" stuff a bit, that's not us really. Sure maybe a kink or two here and there (some edging and some 'yes sirring', spanking for sexual purposes, and other things like that), but overall, we're just two guys, who like rough, possessive kinds of sex. There are no 'safewords', we just do it, or don't do it.

So when I come in, revved as I am, he's ready for me. We collide like thunder and I heave him up in the air enough, so he can catch me around the waist with his legs. I swing him around hard as I kiss the life outta him, slamming us into a wall, not caring who hears.

Our kisses aren't just rough, they're savage. We're trying to rip into each other like meat.

I spin us around and we fall onto the bed. It's still the same bed I had when I lived here. The room is mine in fact. Point is, Dals is on it and I waste no time getting his jeans unbuttoned. I yank them, along with his briefs down to his knees and flip him over. I don't slap him exactly. The only spanking that happens between us, is him spanking me, whether it's sexual or otherwise, but I do give his leg a light slap, rather than use words, as an instruction to get on all fours. He does, eagerly.

There's a pop of a cap and I'm sliding finger, then finger _s_ into him as he reaches back for more. It's a quick prepping, before I take my cock out just enough to get behind him and pound into him.

Dallas lets it all out. He's moaning and crying and breathing heavy. I fuck into him hard and deep, his ass rocking back in time with my thrusts a long time. Suddenly, it switches. Dals pulls away, spins around, pounces and throws me to the ground. Without missing a step, I grab his shirt like a ball in my hand, yanking him to me. I lose my pants, his are still around his ankles and before long, he's fucking into me.

I lose track of how many times we switch like this. Somehow, we're both fucking each other in a strange dance, both of us needing to take control of something tonight, but both feeling like we have no control at all.

We end as a heap on the floor, cut and bruised and messy. Dals's face is still wet with tear tracks, even though he's not crying anymore and same with me – I'm wet all over my face from my face leaking more than it's crying. It's like I don't have the energy to cry no more, so my brain's just got my tear ducts on continuous tap flow.

Dals takes a heaving breath, his words interrupted by a breathing rhythm that's still not right. "C-Chr-ris?"

"Yeah, Baby?"

"I wanna m-marry you this weekend. I d-don-don't wanna wait. Please?"

Thank fuck, because I was going insist on the same thing, even throw a bratty, Christian Winchester special to get my way if need be. "You got it, Dals. This weekend, come Hell or high water – it'll be this weekend."

~**~

"Well fuck me and my brother," I say. Even though I don't have a brother, I just think that's fucking hilarious. Heh. Imagine me, with a brother? That would just be a bad idea. If I ever found someone to love that much, I'd throw the whole fucking world away for them, like I did for Dad when he was around.

I'm in California. The vampire nest is here all right, but I've got bigger problems. Right now, I'm looking at the inside of a bag. A bag filled with fucking syringes of clear orange liquid. One guess as to what this shit is. "Fuck. _Fuck._ "

Jake was right. Demons. I surprised the suspicious mother fucker and he dropped this bag. I'm sitting in my car, my beautiful fucking car and trying to decide what the fuck I do now. I guess I need to call Jake and tell him he may have been onto something, but I plan on finding out a little more before I go running to him. I can just hear him and his 'I told you so's now. Plus, I'll probably get talked into taking over his family business – already got my own I'm looking after thanks – since he'll have his Jake Jr. to look after and shit. Might as well begin working this case on my own anyway, 'cause that's how it's gonna end up. I work alone.

From my periphery, I catch movement and it all happens super fucking fast. "Hello, Dean."

Dammit. Wish I had that brother now.

~**~

"Twenty-eight year old, Caucasian male. From his driver's license."

Least that's what I make out. There's also a lot of fucking shit going on around me, I'm too groggy too make out. And I hurt, my fucking whole body hurts. The pain is so bad, it's likely half the reason I'm delirious. Someone's speaking, asking me something. I can tell it's a female voice, but that's about it; it sounds like she's under water.

I remember the last thing I was doing. I was hunting a vampire nest. Thank fuck I've still got my memory in tact. Yeah, yeah. The vamp nest and…? No. That was it. I'm sure. A lead from Garth. I talked to Garth about a week or so ago. He gave me a tip about the vamp-nest. He's why I came to…? Huh, I don't know. Okay, maybe my memory's a little foggy, but I remember the basics and I'm sure it will all come back once I'm out of fucking pain. Seriously, don't they have some super drugs or something? It's a fucking struggle, but I'm finally able to form words; still can't fucking open my eyes. I moan. "Mmmm. Wh'happened?"

"Sir? _Sir._ Oh good, he's awake. Dean? We're going to help you out. Don't worry, kid."

Kid? Oh, I get it, he must be a lot older than I am, probably refers to everyone as kid. "M'fine Doc. I gotta… gotta go." I try to get up.

"Whoa, whoa Dean. I can't let you go anywhere. But good news, we've already called a family, they've been told to come after your second stage has finished. We don't want them to meet you in the state you're in now, do we?"

"Look pal, I'm not six, you can cut the act." I manage to get that out, but it's difficult. I feel… fuck, I think I'm going to pass out again. I fight to stay awake.

"Don't annoy the poor boy," another female voice says, "He's too delirious with pain to remember this conversation anyway. Here, let me soothe him."

I can't even see if the other doctor is hot or not. _I knew_ I was delirious with pain.

"I say we sedate him, put him out of his misery."

I'm calling that guy asshole doc and when I'm mobile again, he's getting the beating of his life. As of now, there's not much I can do, except hope lady doc will disagree.

"I hate to say it, but I think that's best."

Bitch. Fuck that. I do my best at flinging my arm at the blurry shapes coming toward me, but I'm sloppy and fucking clumsy and all I do is knock a tray over and get asshole doc to start shouting for nurses. I keep up my clown-dance until fucking strong grab me and yeah, I assumed it would be lady nurses, but these are no ladies – they're burly men and there are too many of them for me to fight in the state I'm in.

I feel the needle in my arm and something weird happens. I think of Dad, but I also see other faces. Some I recognize and some I don't. I'm too confused to know what any of it means, or if it means anything at all. I see a bunch of other shit too – a case that was itching at my brain – but I can't… I can't… I try to stay awake long enough to see as much as I can, but I'm… Dean's…

Out.

~**~

The next morning, Uncle Dal's alone on the deck when I come downstairs for water. I woke up in my bed, clean and dressed. Michael. And thank fuck. I didn't care much last night, but I woke with a start this morning, knowing Papa would kill both Michael and I if he found out about our sexcapades last night. I owe Michael so huge for this.

Uncle Dal's taking in the fresh morning air, sipping his coffee, staring at the sunrise. He's got the look about him, like one does when they're doing some fond reminiscing, but in a missing sort of way. He's missing Jake and there's nothing I can do about it. _Except beat the crap out of Jake when he comes back._ 'Cause yeah, I know better than they do, Jake gave up a lot of himself to me whether he knew he was or not. I don't know what kind of foolish scheme he's off doing, but I know he's coming back.

Only thing I don’t know is the when.

"It'll be okay Uncle Dal. When Jake gets back, I'm gonna punch him in the teeth for you."

That gets me a smile. A real Uncle Dal smile – not near as big and sunny as usual, but at least it's not the creepy doll smile from last night. I climb into his lap like I used to when I was little and squeeze the fuck out of him.

"Thank you, Half Pint. I…" Uncle Dal heaves a huge breath that skips off rhythm. "I thought he was ours, but I was wrong, he never was. Yet it just, it makes no sense. Why can't I get it t'make sense?" He hides his face in my shoulder and I can feel him shaking. Crying again, breaking my fucking heart. I squeeze harder, wishing I could suck all his pain out.

_Hear me good Jake Travis Winchester. When you do get back, I've got a hairbrush with your name on it._


	44. Winchestermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter eases everyone just a little and if not, Bam4Me wrote this in a comment and I'm now sharing it with permission because it made me feel better and smile so much. In a weird way, even though I know what's going to happen, I was feeling sad going through these chapters and this seemed to lessen the impact. It also brightens a not so good day -- I know! Thank you Bammy! (<\---if you don't like that nickname, sorry. Sam gave it to you. He told me to call you that, I just listen ;) LOL ) 
> 
> And also, I mistakenly called Cousin Sammy, Uncle Sammy in the last chapter. I don't feel too bad about that, since I'm so much older than some of my cousins, I sometimes call myself Auntie Mock to them accidentally -- this is just a thing my brain does. Anyway, sorry! I'm mentioning it now so there's hopefully no confusion going forward ;) It's all edited now. 
> 
> By Bam4Me: 
> 
>  
> 
> _Dallas: Hmm, still got that 'new baby' smell._  
>  Jake: I'm an adult!  
> Dallas: Smol soft boy. Such tiny. Little.  
> Jake: This is why I left in the first place!  
> Dean: It's okay. You'll adapt.  
> Jake: How do you know?  
> Dean: *looking at Sam* It's a hunch.
> 
> All right! Enjoy the chapter! :D

The closer it gets to the wedding, the higher tensions get. Everyone's chipping in and kicked into high gear to make the wedding happen by Saturday.

But what about Jake?

The wedding is a distraction from Jake. That's why when I heard they were getting married so soon, I didn't react with as much happiness and gusto, as everyone else did. I was a bit of a brat actually and Michael spanked the hell out of me for it, saying he agreed with my assessment, but not my behavior over it and they're allowed to do whatever they want to make themselves feel better. Since when did he become so mature? Anyway, I got spanked and I still didn't like what was happening with regard to the wedding, but I kept my trap shut. Upon further observation, I realized speeding up the wedding wasn't just to bury themselves into something else. They need something _good_ and they need it fast, so despite my apprehensions, I finally let it go.

The search crews still go out everyday, with Uncle Jensen and Jared gone out on a twenty-four seven hunt for him, but Uncle Dal did put an ixnay on Michael asking for his uncle's assistance. Michael was pissed.

_"After all this time, I don't get humans, Dean. Explain to me your uncle's behavior," he had said._

_"That one's simple. He knows that's risky and he's not going to endanger you for Jake's stupidity. You don't sacrifice one kid for the other – least we don't in our family. Yes he considers you family, and his kid, idiot."_

Yes I got spanked for calling him idiot. I kinda gave him that one as a freebie though – I knew he was going to do that and I knew it would cheer him up. He really wanted to be the hero that brought Jake home for my uncles. I figured the least he deserved was my ass as a constellation prize.

Uncle Dal? He's not good, not fucking good at all. Any stranger would never know it though. I know it because I've known him my whole life. He looks like Uncle Dal, smiles like Uncle Dal, talks, walks, even acts like Uncle Dal, but he is _not_ Uncle Dal; not by a long shot. It's like someone's doing a cover band of Uncle Dal – they sound pretty good, but it's just not the real deal.

For instance. Overheard three days before the wedding when he and Uncle Chris were choosing music:

_"Yeah darlin', we can have all the nineties music you want, but when the band comes on, I want some Garth Brooks."_

_"'Course Dals and hey, I was thinking about the band. There's this Kenney Chesney cover band that seems cool—"_

_"—absolutely _no_ Chesney." The Uncle Dallas clone broke form for that one, his eyes looking hurt and angry, his jawbones like they could cut, exposing his true, inner turmoil._

_Uncle Chris had no idea what to say for a few heartbeats then he rubbed Uncle Dal's arm until he calmed again. "All right sweetheart. No Chesney. I promise."_

_Uncle Dal slipped a curtain over his pain and his cover band performance resumed._

And poor Uncle Chris. He's really stepped up to hold everything together on this one. He's, topping from the bottom so to speak, even though that's not my favorite term, but best way I can describe it. It's what Daddy does with Papa sometimes when Papa's not having a good time. He carries on, as per whatever their agreement is, he defers to Uncle Dal, but he sets things up, to, well… 'go like always'.

Exhibit A.

_Uncle Chris made a show of yawing as he poured over seating charts._

_"You need to go to bed Chris," Uncle Dal told him as he too worked on wedding stuff. If there's one thing you can count on about a Top, it's that when they're in a crisis-type mode, or worried over something, they tighten up the bolts of the ship._

_"Naw Dals, I'm not tired. Don'cha know that yawning's sometimes the body's way of taking in more oxygen?"_

_"Don't care what the internet said, Christian. You've got thirty minutes and you're packing it in."_

_Chris didn't let it go past the 'Christian'. That's never a good idea, unless you're angling for a spanking right where you are. Tops don't like having to give orders more than once. "Yes, sir."_

_Sadly, I was caught in the cross-fire._

_"Dean, where's Michael?" Uncle Dal, asked._

_"He's with Grampa again. I swear to God those two are best friends forever." Seriously. They should get fucking best friend bracelets made – but more on them another time._

_"Go start saying your goodnights, you're going to bed too."_

_"What? Why'm'I being sent to bed? I didn't yawn." I gave Uncle Chris a decent glare._

_"You've been staying up late every night this week, helping plan the wedding all day and no one seems to have noticed, but I can see it around your eyes."_

_"Well there you go. If Papa didn't say anything, I don't see why you are."_

_I say some pretty stupid shit sometimes, I won't deny it. That's an example. That's not how it works and I know it. Papa's, Papa and yeah he's 'the guy', but I know full well when Uncle Dal tells me to do something, I'm to obey him. It was established long ago that he could make decisions in absence of my parents, or pick up the slack in a case like this one where everyone's too busy to keep both eyes on me and if he tells me to do something, it's good as if Papa did. In fact, I still remember the spankings, plural, I got the one time I told Uncle Dal off when he told me to do something and I told him I didn't have to listen to him because he wasn't Papa._

_Papa spanked me for that, to notify me that yes, I do in fact have to do as I'm told by Uncle Dal and then a spanking from Uncle Dal for telling him off._

_So yeah, I can't explain why I said what I said. I wish I could say I was doing what Uncle Chris was doing, but I wasn't. In hindsight, I think I was just being myself. Uncle Dal knew it._

_"I'm in no mood Dean Winchester. Get your little butt up to bed before I spank it, Sur."_

Jeez. Yeah. True story. Needless to say I did in fact, get my little butt to bed. But I'm off topic. Where was I? Oh yeah, Uncle Chris. He kept setting up little instances like that one. Sometimes, he even made sure to be well-behaved, knowing Tops like that too. They like to be proud of their taken in hand.

Exhibit B.

_We all went to the cake shop together. By we, I mean Uncle Dal, Uncle Chris, Michael and I. It was fucking awesome. The chick set us up at a table with 'so many' pieces of cake and we were able to go to town._

_The whole time, Uncle Chris was the definition of well-mannered. I know he wanted to get some practice in, smooshing cake in Uncle Dal's face, but he didn't. I know this both because he mimicked doing it when Uncle Dal was busy talking to the cake lady and because I couldn't resist doing it to Michael. Uncle Chris didn't though. The discipline he displayed was exemplary even throwing in some 'yes sirs', discreetly when he could. The pay off was the shiny smile in Uncle Dal's eyes. Each time, we all caught glimpses of the real Uncle Dal, before he went back to the clone version._

All the while Uncle Chris was taking care of Uncle Dal, someone needed to take care of Uncle Chris. Papa stepped up to the plate a few times.

Exhibit C.

_"That's it. I'm going. Going out to look for the boy myself," Uncle Chris said one day, as he stormed into the kitchen. Gramma was making me one of my favorite lunches of her special homemade macaroni and cheese, and Papa was pretending to read the paper, but I know he was just waiting to get in on the mac'n'cheese action._

_"No you're not. We have Jared and Jensen out looking until the wedding and that's all Dallas has authorized. You will remain here," Papa told him, without missing a step._

_When Papa talks like that, both Daddy and I instinctively straighten up and recount our behavior over the past several hours, because even when he's not talking to you, it can feel like it. Also, as with Uncle Dal in that other scenario, when a Top gets going, he can often be like a hurricane, affecting all other things and people in his wake._

_On this day, Uncle Chris pushed and I straightened up straighter._

_"He's my kid. I'll do what I like and you can kiss my go to Hell," Uncle Chris said, giving Papa eyes that were pure challenge._

_We should note here, he wanted the spanking he got (you don't talk like that to someone like Papa unless you're asking, or maybe needing one without knowing just yet), he just couldn't ask for it; that's hard to do sometimes, so you brat for it. Been there, got that t-shirt I tell you._

_"Fair," Papa said closing up his newspaper and setting it on the table. Hearing the sound his chair made as he slid it back was something I've heard one too many times and my body reacted as such with those before-spanking tingles. "But I insist we have the conversation about that, in private."_

_Without pomp and circumstance, Papa got up and began to stride steady legs over toward Uncle Chris and he knew how that private conversation was gonna go. "But, but Castiel, this isn't fair!"_

_I paid him no mind, brats always say stuff like that, even when they know deep down they need a spanking, but I did feel for him._

_When they both returned for mac'n'cheese some time later, Uncle Chris was a little red in the face, but the relief he felt was apparent. A cozy feeling settled over the kitchen in fact. Gramma had a knowing smile on her face and Papa's agitation was gone (Papa can often have a slight look of agitation about him, that seems to be settled by spanking someone)._

That's Dal and Chris. Basically, they're shitty and pretending to be awesome.

Speaking of agitation, Michael's a ball of agitation. The whole business with Jake has him unsettled and after prodding at him (read prodding as being a huge brat) I've confirmed he's still carrying on about Old Dean and thinking I'm going to AWOL like Jake did. Not that this level of agitation changes things between us much. Michael's usually watching me like a hawk anyway, but his angel-brand OCD is showing and as is the case with Michael, it presents by way of cleaning everything in sight.

Daddy noticed and mentioned something to Gramma. Gramma began calling on Michael for odd, cleaning jobs. Some that were to do with the wedding – Casa de Winchester Texas is getting scrubbed top to bottom, since the ceremony and reception have been moved to Gramma and Grampa's house – and some that are just Gramma inventing jobs to keep him busy.

Like with Grampa, Michael's adoration for Gramma Winchester has increased exponentially. He's always held her in high regard, but now, _she's_ the angel – you know, the fluffy, anointed (fictional) kind the Minister in church talks about. _If only the Minister knew what dicks they actually are._

I have to agree with Michael there though. My gramma's pretty much made of rainbows, sugar, hardened steel and super hero charisma.

As for my parents they're… a bit fucking strange if you ask me. And I know it's to do with the same thing Michael's freaking out about: Old Dean. Of course, each parent takes a different strategy on dealing with their feelings over it and by now the following can be expected.

Daddy loads on the endearments and if Gramma's not making me special foods, he takes time out from wedding stuff to do so. He even went as far as to get into an actual disagreement with Papa – something that happens rarely – over something so stupid and innocuous, I forget what it was, but they argued. Papa won of course. I didn't have to see the spanking to know it happened. After that, Daddy did calm down and Papa kept an extra eye on him, including the extra eye he's been keeping on me.

I've been crossing all my T's and dotting all my I's these days let me tell you. Papa has been vigilant. Vigilant and strict. After my and Michael's night of seven times, Papa's spidey sense seems to have been tingling. He has no proof, but he knows we did something; therefore, he doesn't outright accuse us, but he has issued a lot of random and weird-ass warnings.

Needless to say Michael and I have not had sex since – yeah, it's fucking cruel.

But Papa's also worried about what everyone else is and that's Old Dean. I get it on the one hand, he came in with a bang, but since, he's not been more than an annoying extra voice inside my head.

It's only something I can understand though. I know how he feels inside (and yes, this is segue into 'me' this week).

Michael was right when he said he pulled a Gepetto and turned me into a puppet. He did do that, but despite him doing that, I don't _feel_ like that's why he's slipped into my conscience. The problem is, I have no proof of that. It's yet another Old Dean theory, only this one comes from a _knowing_ inside, like how you know you like someone after meeting them only a second. The proof comes later, but you just _know_ you like them.

I know Old Dean isn't here to take me away and convince me to hunt again, like an old drinking buddy. I know.

Me knowing that doesn't make him less annoying though. He's become… chatty.

Also though, in the same way I know he's not here to take me away, I know he's here for unfinished business. But until I can prove any of this, I just try to keep him under wraps and not let it be known that he's still kicking around, saying shit to me.

~**~

I'm just setting down a large vase filled with white calla lilies, when Michael slips his arms around me from behind. "You look good dressed up in that outfit, Duck," he says into my ear, having to duck under the cowboy hat, then presses a kiss to it, nibbling on the lobe.

We're all in vests, black jeans, grey jackets, and cowboy hats. "I'd look even better out of it."

He smacks my ass and not in a fun way. "No. We can refrain from having sex for another week."

"Whoa, wait. Another week? You're planning on delaying sex another week? That's horseshit, Michael." I make sure to keep my voice low. There are many family members around us, too many. The cousins wouldn't care of course, but there are plenty of adults who would. Adults like Papa and Daddy.

"What we did was risky," he says.

"And your idea."

"Also your idea."

That is true and I can't deny it. "Fine. But the sex break wasn't my idea." I flip around, but keep my arms around him. "You okay, Michael?" I ask suddenly. I probably don't ask him that enough, especially with how tense he's been, but right now he looks surprisingly content.

He brushes the hair off my forehead. "I'm more than fine Duck. I'm the best I've ever been." Michael's smile says he really is. I want to believe him, but it's out of the ordinary to see him so calm and happy.

"There you two are," cousin Sammy says pulling us apart like naughty kittens. "Dean, Uncle Dallas is asking for you. Michael we need you to—"

"—let me guess stage set up?" Michael says as Sammy lets go the scruff of his neck and he adjusts his sexy-ass cowboy suit.

Sammy smiles at him. "No. Mini-Dal's asking for you. He says his friend Michael's gotta take him down the isle."

Dallas Jr. is the ring bearer. Michael's in the wedding party anyway as a groomsman for Uncle Dal and I get to be his best man. Daddy and Papa sort of are too, since I'm too young to sign the certificate, but Uncle Dal wanted me standing up there beside him anyway.

"Okay Sammy," I say and take a look at Michael, he's still being all doe-y eyed. I swear to Christ he's on the verge of blowing me a kiss. I hope he doesn't, that would be weird. Too weird.

 **Yeah, we might have to H-W-S-S him,** Old Dean says.

Hearing him talk in my head used to freak me out, but like I said, he's been chatty. I'm already getting used to it, to the point I respond. Sometimes he even answers back when I ask him a question. _H-W-S-S?_

**Holy water, salt, and silver.**

_Oh. Hunter joke._ Har. Har. Since he's got nothing useful to say, I head up to Daddy and Papa's room at Gramma and Grampa's where I know Uncle Dal's getting ready.

I'm surprised to see he's all by himself. "Uncle Dal? Where is every—holy wow Uncle Dal, you look incredible."

Uncle Dal's got on a white, long-sleeved button-up shirt, underneath a grey vest. The jacket is white and long; it reaches mid-thigh, opening in an A-line. Instead of a standard tie, he's got his favorite bolo tie around his neck and the cowboy hat he's chosen is the same black one he wore when he went on his first tour. It's a bit fancier, with a silver buckle on the left side. He compromised with Nan. He wanted blue jeans and she wanted to see him just one time in black slacks. He asked her if black jeans would be all right, and she said deal, so long as there were no holes.

"Thanks half pint and thank the lord you're here – I needed to see you."

"You needed to see me? What for Uncle Dal? You having cold feet?"

"No, nothing like that. I know Chris is my dove, my penguin, my termite—"

"—ew, termite?"

"I was listing creatures that mate for life, but I mostly wanted to see if you were still paying attention."

"I am but, termites mate for life?" Now I'm fucking curious.

"Sorta. Up to twenty years minimum, but if they break-up things get ugly and they bite each other's antennae off."

I nod. "Still somewhat accurate. If you ever break up with Uncle Chris, he's sure to break off something on the next guy you date," I say thinking about it. Winchesters also mate for life. We don't like people fucking with what's ours.

Uncle Dal laughs and I'm glad to hear his real laugh come out, rather than the one he's been using for his uncle Dal cover band. In fact, he seems a lot 'himself', but it's not good enough, not for his wedding day. I wish there was some way I could convince them to just wait. But I can also read the anguish he's feeling over Jake in his demeanor; it's so gut twisting he can't bear to feel it and I understand him wanting to do anything to ignore it for a bit. What will he do when this is all over?

"But enough about termites, what I was trying to say is, I have no doubts about marrying Chris, or about marrying him today I just, you're my lucky star, you know that half pint? You really are and I just wanted to spend a quiet moment with you, before the wedding, if you don't mind too much? You have a way of always making me feel good a-and I could use some 'a that right now."

I feel so special. I'm Uncle Dallas's lucky star? I hate the hitch in his giddy-up though. It tips me off to what he's not saying. He's missing Jake, wishing he was here. I've been told when I was a little boy, I often had good snuggle timing and would climb in with Uncle Dal when he was having a bad day; said I used to cheer him right up. It's kind of a special thing between him and me. There was one particular story, when I was five he often recites. He and Uncle Chris had some kind of break up, or something when my parents were away (the jerks went to Hawaii without me) and I happened to climb into bed with him. It wasn't the first time, but it was an especially meaningful time, if the way Uncle Dal tells that story is anything to go by. I seemed to have a knack for knowing when to comfort him.

This also is not the first time he's asked for my comfort, but I know that when he does, he's hurting. _Hurting._

I am going to fucking kill Jake if I ever see him again.

I get to work immediately. "Look, Uncle Dal. This is probably gonna make you cry, but I have to say it and after you do, you'll feel better." I fucking hope so. I'm not letting him walk down that isle feeling like shit. "Jake's an asshole."

" _Dean._ "

"No wait, hear me out. And if you think I'm in need of a spanking, well happy wedding day to you." He rolls his eyes at me for being dramatic. I continue. "Jake's an asshole and we all knew this, what he did was expected, doesn't mean it hurt less, but there was the small hope that maybe he'd had a change of heart and that he'd stay instead."

"How's this supposed to make me feel better, half pint?"

"I'm getting there. See, the thing is, Jake did what we _expected_ ," I underline again. "That's my point. He did that and everyone's shocked anyway, you said so yourself, it doesn't make sense. If we expected it, why doesn't it make sense?"

"Because, because, I don't know, Dean." His eyes fill with the tears he's been holding back all week.

"If you feel you are facing a contradiction, check your premises. One of'em is false." He should know that better than anyone, he taught me that.

"Contradiction…" he thinks about it. "You think Jake didn't want to leave?"

"I do. I know he loves you and Uncle Chris a stupid amount – that's what's got you torn up, thinking he didn't really care about you – he really loves you guys; it was in everything he did. And I can't promise you he's coming back," because if Jake did leave for a reason beyond wanting to, it might be something he can't come back from, but I'm not saying that to Uncle Dal. I do know he'll come back if he can. "But you gotta have faith in what you had, for however long you had it otherwise, it really did mean nothing."

Uncle Dal's still crying, but it's a better kind of crying. "You're right, Dean," he says sniffling. "None of that changes how much I miss him, but you're right. _That_ makes more sense and somehow, well it doesn't erase the pain, but it makes it not stab at my fucking guts so god awfully."

"Did you just say…?" Because I can't even remember the last time Uncle Dal's said the word 'fuck'. I know he has, I just can't remember.

"Yah, I did," he says. "Don't tell your daddy." He winks through his tears like he might have when it was a long time ago and I was a little boy and he lived with us and on very rare occasion, we conspired together and had extra ice cream, or he'd read me more stories at bedtime than he was supposed to. Fuck I hate seeing him sad. I'm saying everything I know to make him feel better and, and, and, it's not fucking working. I throw my arms around him, desperate to the point of begging him.

"Aww Uncle Dal, please don't be so sad anymore – I can't take it. I love you so darn much." Now I'm fucking crying. Some cheer up parade I am.

He wraps his arms around me too and squeezes tight. "I mean it half pint. You really helped your ol' Uncle Dal and I feel a ton better than where I was at even moments ago. I know I've been doing a good job hiding it, but I haven't been dealing so well this week. Sometimes, you're wise beyond your years, half pint and what you said's really turned something in me – I think I can walk down the isle to Chris with a real smile on my face because of it. I'll always remember this. I love you too, so darn much. Just you don't go anywhere, okay? This near killed me, if you left, I really would be a goner."

"I'm not going anywhere Uncle Dal. Nowhere." I mean it. Daddy and Papa can just deal with me going to a college nearby… that is, if Papa says it's okay.

We release each other, both of us wiping our eyes. "Should we go have ourselves a wedding?" he asks me.

"Yep. Let's have ourselves a wedding.


	45. Chally's Wedding (1)

Uncle Chris looks just as good as Uncle Dal does in his matching suit, only Uncle Chris's jacket is black, and he's wearing the white Chesney hat. I'm fucking glad that some Chesney made it into this wedding. Fucking Jake.

The ceremony is beautiful, in Gramma and Grampa's large and well-manicured backyard with tons of white flowers. It's cooking and I'm fucking sweating. We're all dressed in a version of what Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris are wearing. All of us looking dapper in cowboy hats. It's fun to see Papa wearing a bolo tie. Somehow, the look suits Daddy better, even though they both grew up here and Papa was the one that ran away to the dude ranch – or so the story goes.

I'm supposed to be watching my uncles, and I am, but Michael is distracting. Not only is he dressed like us and looking hot in his cowboy hat, but he's holding mini-Dal and it's making me want things we can never have. For the moment, I don't care and I imagine he's holding our kid. I'm reminded of the nightmare I had, not too long ago with him and a mini-version of us. All I can think now is how cool it would be to have a mini-scowling-Michael.

Something else distracts me a moment. Uncle Jen and Uncle Jared. They're here and they don't look happy. They must have just showed up. They're dressed in their usual hunting attire and have pushed their way to the front of the crowd, and even though I can see them plain as day, they seem a bit hidden; like they're trying to hide in plain sight.

**Be ready,** Old Dean says.

_For what?_

I feel like how I would feel if I were shrugging. **Anything.**

Elusive asshole. Was I really that much of a prick?

But now I'm looking. Nothing _seems_ to be off, but clearly the hunters (Old Dean included) sense something I don't. I hate being in the fucking dark.

I look back to where we're at in the ceremony, which has sadly become the second most exciting thing I'm watching – which is shitty because I've been waiting for this forever, but hey, it is what it is. Life happens and all that shit.

"If anyone here knows of any reason these two should not be wed…"

The minister goes through the regular hoopla and when he finally gets to, "I now pronounce you, husband and husband," we all heave a sigh of relief feeling the weight of all the years of their tumultuous relationship lift and transform into something new, something even more special. For the moment, we've all forgotten about Jake (that asshole), and I've forgotten about the two tense looking hunters in the crowd, plus the one in my head. Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris are smiling for real; they lean into kiss each other with boundless happiness.

I'm admiring, we all are. There's a big fucking crowd of us. Between all the Colts and Winchesters and friends, and friends of friends, there's gotta be a gabillion people – and this is just who could make it on short notice. But point is, we're all standing here, watching in awe of the pair when I see movement in my periphery. I don't know what tips me off about the movement – there are probably hundreds of little movements going on around me – but I see something, something that looks fucking bad.

_Danger._

**I think you should sit this one out, kid.**

_No fucking way_

I can feel Old Dean pushing, like he did before when he took over. Last time he slid over me and became the puppeteer, but I wasn't expecting it. This time I do and I stop him. **Don't be stupid. There isn't fucking time for this shit.**

_Tell me what to do._

**Don't work that way.**

_No deal._

**Jesus fucking Christ. Fine. I'll make you a deal, let me take care of this, and I'll make sure you stay co-pilot rather than just clean up duty.**

The conversation with the voice in my head only takes nanoseconds. And everything that happens next does too, but it feels like things are happening in slow motion, with a whole bunch of shit happening at once.

The thing that moved is a person and by the looks of it, it's a he that's going straight for Uncle Dal.

There's a fucking loud screech of tires out front of the house.

Jared and Jensen kick into high gear, and now I see what Old Dean saw; they're not close enough.

But I am.

It's hard to explain how it happens, but best way is like a syncing and kinda how Daddy describes things: Old Dean is me; I'm Old Dean, but I've just forgotten part of my own psyche. It's also a bit like how I explain it, Old Dean is hanging out in an apartment inside my brain, like he's partitioned himself away.

For safe keeping.

I let him sync with me, I'm still here, but I let that part of me dictate what my body does. There's no difference between Old Dean and Dean Winchester – we're just Dean, but we're acting with all the pieces intact.

I need a demon blade, but I don't have one. I can't worry about that for the time being. I just charge and jump and tackle the idiot to the ground. I can't see Michael, but I know he's livid, only there's no time for him to do anything about me as another body is flinging itself at Michael; this time, a woman. Another demon. Michael doesn't have any weapons on him either. Sure he has his angel strength, but it's not what it is for other angels. He only had enough time to put Mini-Dallas down in the hopes someone will come grab him before he meets head on with the lady demon. I know he can handle himself though, so I worry about dickface, demon in front of me.

He's wearing cowboy attire, so it's no wonder no one noticed and especially with the number of people here. It's not like we had anyone policing the event – a head's up from Jen and Jared would have been nice.

I don't recognize the guy. He's not someone we know, least I'm reasonably sure, which is what I'm going with as I punch the shit out of the dude, as he in turn punches the shit out of me. I've got Old Dean brain power on my side giving the muscles I've built from playing hockey for years the right instructions, but it's not enough.

The demon asshole does have a weapon, a firearm, which he could easily use on me, but I notice he doesn't, which makes no fucking sense. And buddy slips right out of my fucking fingers to head straight for Uncle Dal again. Remember. All of this is happening within seconds of seconds. My brawl with the demon is not-surprisingly (considering how rusty I am) short.

He leaves with a sharp kick to my stomach, fucking winding me leaving me with nothing to do but claw helplessly at air as the demon heads for Uncle Dal, reaching for the firearm.

Out of fucking nowhere, Jake's there and unlike me, he _does_ have a demon blade. He doesn't hesitate and he's not fucking rusty – but it only takes me less than a second to notice something's not right about him, well maybe 'not right' is the wrong way to describe it; just different – and he tackles buddy to the ground, as he simultaneously stabs the blade clean through the demon. There's a flash of red lightening through its body before it's lifeless.

Getting over being winded and looking up at Jake from where I am on the ground, I see what's different. For starters, his foot isn't broken anymore. There's a flash of something across his eyes – like he's forgotten something – but then, definitely recognition. "Dean," he says smiling, proud of himself.

"A little help," Michael says toward my hunting uncles who have made it up to where we are, or Jake, whoever can hand him a demon blade, or something to control her. He's managing her fine, but I think he's unsure of whether he can kill her or not, since she could be a family member. She's not.

Soon as Jared and Jensen approach, the demon flees in a tornado-shaped funnel of black smoke, out of the woman's mouth. The woman's body crumples under Michael, sadly, dead.

A whole bunch of emotions are happening for the newlywed couple as the crowd is murmuring, very fucking confused over what just happened. Thankfully Grampa Winchester knows just what to do. "Bar is open folks. Nothing to see here. Head over that way." Grampa Winchester has a way about him. Even if you've never met him in your life, you're likely to obey the words coming out of his mouth without knowing why. People head in the direction he tells them, happy to get a drink after watching what just happened.

"Dean!" That's Michael this time and he's not fucking okay, recovering from the demon attack and immediately worrying over me. He's up and pulling me up all in one motion. At the same time, I feel the feeling of Old Dean slip back into his little apartment in my mind again and it makes me feel dizzy. I fall into Michael as he catches me.

We've quickly got a crowd around us which consists of Gramma and Grampa Winchester, Papa, Daddy, Uncle Jared, Uncle Jensen, Uncle Chris, Uncle Dal.

"Where's Dallas Jr.?" Michael asks as he squeezes me to him like he's trying to make us one person.

"I saw Caroline grab him," Uncle Dal says staring at Jake, not knowing what the fuck to do.

"Uh, hi guys," Jake says sheepish as hell, scratching at his head.

Uncle Chris goes straight into Winchester mode, still not having registered the fact that Jake's foot doesn't appear to be broken. "Jake Travis, _Winchester_. Just where do you get off running off like that? No sign 'a where you went. Nothin' but a stupid little note with four words on it." He reminds me a lot of Papa right now and he's doing a damn good impression of Grampa Winchester too.

"Uh, well there's a whole story and I'll tell you. I will. But shouldn't we get on with the wedding first? Save this for tomorrow?"

The thing about brats is we're charming. Sometimes too much for our own good. That and the fact that Uncle Chris has been missing him so damn much melts him easily. He grabs Jakes, squeezing the life out of him. "You came back, kid. Oh God, I'm so glad you came back." Uncle Chris is crying into his head which, huh, the picture looks different… somehow.

Now that Uncle Chris broke, we all shift our focus to Uncle Dal who looks somehow more upset than when Jake left. Uncle Chris releases Jake and Jake and Uncle Dal are left staring at each other, neither knowing what to say, Jake out of cheekiness for the time being at least.

Finally Uncle Dal says something. "Can everyone leave the three of us for a moment? We need to chat. Alone."

I'm fucking disappointed, because I want to see what happens, but apparently I've got a private family meeting of my own to attend. "Dean, Michael, Sam, in the house please," Papa says.

Before any of us can go anywhere, Grampa slips something out of his pocket. "Here, Christian. For you and Dallas. You'll know what to do with it. Jake knows."

What? Okay, now I really want to fucking stay. "Come along, Dean," Papa says. Michael keeps hold of my hand and the four of us trudge over to the house.

~**~

I can hardly believe he's here. Of course I want to run over and squish the life out of him, Chris did, but something's holding me back. It only lasts until I see Dean and everyone disappear into the house, then I grab Jake and crush him to me. It has not escaped my notice that he's walking sans crutches. I sob in the worst way, letting him hear all my anguish and by the time I'm done hugging him, he's crying too. Silently, but still crying.

As we pull apart, I notice Chris is refolding the papers Clyde gave him, looking confused, and stuffing them into the back of his pants and under his long jacket. A second apart from holding Jake is already too long and I have to pull him back to me. I don't know how long we have him – if we have him at all – so I do things like inhale his scent and remember what he feels like.

At some point, I get the distinct impression he's doing the same thing. "Jake?"

"Yeah, Dallas?"

"An explanation sometime soon would be nice."

"Well I would if you weren't clinging onto me like an octopus."

It feels good to roll my eyes about Jake being Jake again. It's hard, but I let go and I get stern, sensing we – all three of us – need it. "You sit there, please," I say, pointing to one of the chairs in the front row. I grab Chris's hand realizing that hey, we're married. I can call him my husband now. That thought catches me long enough to give him a kiss. Jake crosses his arms and looks jealous.

"Aw, we love you too, Cowpoke," Chris says, noticing.

"I don't care," Jake says in a way that says he cares very much.

"Okay Jake Travis, explain."

"I… First of all, I'm sorry I left such a shitty note, but I… Look I agonized over it and there was just no right way to say goodbye. I didn't want it to be goodbye, but I didn't know there was any coming back from where I was going."

I believe him, and I'm sure it must have been hard, but there's still going to be a chat about this over my knee. "Uh-huh, but here you are."

"Yeah," he smiles. "Can we just let bygones be bygones?"

"I don't think so, Jake. If you didn't want to leave, why did you?" I ask.

"That demon. I… had to kill it. It was personal." His eyes are sharp enough to cut glass.

"And you couldn't ask for help?"

"No. He told me to come alone, so I did."

"You don't seem the kind to jump at the beck and call of demons, Jake. What did he have on you?" Chris asks.

He looks from me to Chris, pleading with his eyes to get out of answering that question. We he finally deciphers we're not, he answers. "The demon wanted Dallas. I only remember some of the details. Things are… hazy."

I look at Chris then back to Jake. "Hazy?"

"I made a deal."

"You made a deal with a demon?" I say. Yeah I'm outraged. I just got him back and if he wants to leave of his own accord, that's something we'll talk about, but I don't want him ripped away because of a demon deal.

"Relax. It's not the kind you're thinking, I'm not stupid."

"Debatable," Chris says because I know how stupid he thinks trouncing after Demons with a broken foot is.

"Look, it's… I took precautions. I texted the Dolt-twins before I did anything."

I look to the sky again. "Details Jake," I say.

"I'm tryin'. I don't know how to say this; I'm afraid you don't want me now, all right? The plan depended on _before,_ but maybe I was wrong, maybe things have changed, I'm not feeling…" He tugs at his hair. He really is having a tough time and something's wrong.

I crouch down and put my hands on his thighs; my hands look bigger somehow. "Nothing's changed about the way we feel about you Jakey. Nothing. We want you with us, but only if that makes you happy. If not, we'll find a way to get over it, but our first choice is you here."

Not even able to put on his tough guy act any longer, he reaches his arms out to me. I stand, so I can hug him around his shoulders and he wraps his arms around my legs. I let him have quiet for a moment as he buries his face into my legs and I look at Chris, who looks confused as I am. I shrug and shake my head. "I c-can't remember, Dal-Dallas. I can't remember some things," he finally says. "But I remember you guys and being here and what I wrote myself in the letter. I wrote myself a letter."

The more he says, the less sense he makes, but one thing is certain, he needs help getting there. "Shhh. It's okay. We're gonna get through this. Take your time." I spend a few moments running my hand through his hair and hushing him. This is not how I expected this reunion to go. After Jake ran that demon through and I knew everything was all right, I pictured there to be a lot of telling him off, right after Chris and I squeezed the life out of him.

Speaking of Chris, he sits down beside Jake and begins scratching his back, like Cas always did to Dean when Dean was little – it's a Winchester thing. Dean's often asked me to do the same thing, but apparently, I don't do it like Papa does.

"Jake," Chris says gently. "What did the demon want?"

"An exchange. Dallas's life, so that I would let him shoot me up with Modlenol."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More forthcoming. Just have to look it over.


	46. Chally Wedding (2)

"You _let_ a demon shoot you up with Modlenol?" I say and try not to let my voice screech, except I think it did. I don't want him doing something like that for me, even though I'm touched. My mind runs wild with all the things that coulda happened to him and I squeeze him just that much closer, an attempt to calm myself down and assure myself he's right here with us.

He pushes himself away and wipes his eyes, seeming to have gotten the hard part out of the way. "I did and I don't regret it." There's not going to be any talking him out of that, so I don't.

"So that's why your foot is better?" Chris asks.

"Huh?"

"Your foot. It was broken."

"Huh, now that you mention it, I seem to recollect somethin' about that."

He's perplexed though. "But you remembered us?" Maybe I shouldn't have asked that, but I have to know. I mean, it seems like he does, but…

He nods. "Yeah. I remember you guys. And being here. The letter to myself said it too, but I remembered. When I woke up, Jensen and Jared were standing over me. I didn't know who they were a second – it felt like reaching – but then I did. I followed them here, in my car. That asshole demon came here anyway."

"Jake."

"Well he is. He went back on our deal."

"It's a demon, Jake. Is it really that surprising?" Chris asks.

"Yeah, actually. As slimy as demons are, when they make a deal they follow through."

"Well I'll be."

"So, do you hate me too much now, or c-can I stay with you guys? I'm kinda gonna need parents now. I don't know how small I'll get. I mean, I'm we can find someone else if you don't want to be—"

"—no," I jump in. "Us. If it's gonna be someone, it's gonna be us. You do want it to be us though?" I don't think I could bear seeing Jake go to someone else, or having him say no to that question.

"Yeah, knucklehead. It's what I said, didn't I?"

"I'd be careful with smart-assed comments if I were you, Jake," Chris says. "Especially if we're gonna be your real parents. You've got one of the more hard-assed Colts for a Daddy and well, I'm a Winchester, that explains itself."

None of that seems to bother Jake. Instead it makes him smile. "Colt? Ain't you a Winchester now?"

"That's right," I say smiling at Chris.

Chris reaches into his pocket and pulls out the papers his father gave him. "We all can be if we want." He opens up the papers. "These are adoption papers, they'll make Jake a Winchester too."

In all the commotion, I'd forgot about what Clyde said he was going to do, and get the papers for Jake to become a Winchester, but, "now that Jake's a moddler, aren't there different adoption papers we have to sign?" I know from all the stuff we went through with Dean, Moddlers aren't considered consenting even if they're technically adult age when modified. There are a few reasons for the rule. The simplest one being that when spiked, some people aren't found until they actually are too little to make any decisions of this magnitude. One of the more complex, that those who have been spiked, having not wanted to be modified, also don't want to be 'adopted', so the law has to enforce it. Another yet more complex reason, is the grey area of: Is someone who's been modified consenting or not? Because like what's happening with Jake, they experience memory loss.

This whole situation's pretty grey, because even though Jake made the deal before he was injected, it was under coercion. Would he still have chosen the same in other circumstances? Hard to say. I only have two things to go on that make me feel better about the whole thing. I know there aren't two better people for Jake than Chris and I, we'll love him to death. And faith, like Dean said, in what he felt for us before this whole deal. We'll have to get Clyde to fix us up with the Moddler Adoption papers.

"These are the right papers Dals. Look, says right here: Moddler Adoption papers. Didn't see that on the first look; I assumed they were the other thing we talked about before too," he says meaningfully.

What the what? "But how?" I look at Jake, he shrugs. There's more to this, but I'll have to find that out later. Chris heads over to grab a pen off the table where we signed the marriage certificate, stepping over the body of the demon Jake killed. I ask Jake anyway, because I feel he's still got enough adult in him to make the decision. "You sure about this Jake? Because once we sign those papers, he's your papa and I'm your daddy and we're not letting go of you for anything, understand?"

Jake laughs. "I, yeah, I'm good with that."

"Not good enough, Sur. I want to hear you say it."

"All right, all right," he says with some of that Jake bite I've missed. "I want you two to adopt me. I really do. I want to be your son. A Winchester."

Chris smiles brightly. "Does that settle it, Dals?" he asks since I'm supposed to be the one in charge around here.

"That settles it." Chris and I take turns signing the papers. "Okay, let's get someone in here to clean this up and enjoy the rest of the wedding."

"Wait," Chris says as I pull Jake up by the hand. He's staying with my two eyes on him the rest of the night. "Just need your hat, cowboy."

Chris crowns Jake with the Chesney hat and this time, I really feel like he's ours. After this, I'll never doubt that again.

~**~

I've been sat on a chair at Gramma and Grampa's kitchen table and I've got two parents who look like they want to wrap me in bubblewrap and lock me away in a room no one can hurt me and an angel who looks ready to unleash holy hell. They don't take long to bust into action, Papa grabbing ice and Daddy looking me over, taking off my jacket and undoing my vest and shirt like I'm a little kid. I let him though; it'll make him feel better.

The demon did a number on me. My torso is bruised to shit and I must have cuts on my face, because it's bleeding. Not to mention, I'm fucking tired from the all the Dean switcheroo. "Daddy Winchester," Michael growls and Daddy knows exactly what he's thinking.

"No Michael. It looks worse than it is. He doesn't need healing."

Michael can't handle it and he moves to throw a fit, which we all know will include him throwing actual things, but Papa stops him. "No Michael. You will calm yourself, or you can go up to your room," he says handing Daddy a bag of ice he's fixed.

Michael, not wanting to leave my sight squeezes his hands into fists similar to how Daddy does and fumes silently. "Dean, how you feeling kiddo?"

"Fine, Papa. I mean it."

Papa looks to Daddy for reassurance. "He's really fine Cas." Daddy's gotten good at injuries having raised a billion Colts. He knows when it's serious and when it's not. "I'm going to run up and get my arnica. Dean, you stay right here."

Where does he think I'm going to go?

"Could I have some water please, Papa?"

"Of course, Kiddo."

I might as well milk this in any way I can. Michael's seething. It's a bit frightening. I think he needs Daddy more than I do. "What were you thinking Dean?" Michael asks, not caring about what Papa will say. "No wait, this was Old Dean wasn't it?"

I have no idea how to answer that. It was, but well, it wasn't too.

"Here you go, Dean," Papa says blocking Michael from view and handing me the glass of water.

Thankfully Daddy's back pretty quick with the arnica and he starts applying it over the bruises, as I sit half-naked waiting for someone to scold me or hell at least question me. But nothing comes. When Daddy's done he takes a warm cloth from Papa, removes my hat and begins wiping down my face. I get it. At least I think I do. The ritual of taking care of me is soothing him, even Papa and Michael who are watching.

When Daddy's got my cuts taken care of, he helps me put my shirt back on then gives me the ice pack for me to start icing and I do. Finally, Papa starts in. "What happened Dean? Was it, Old Dean?"

It's a lot like Michael's question, only gentler and I've still got nothing on how to explain it. "I… don't know Papa. I just suddenly knew that if I didn't so something, Uncle Dal was going to die."

Papa looks to Daddy and they have one of their private, wordless conversations. "Dean, you did things when you tackled that demon that, well, _you _just don't know."__

__"Yeah. No offence Dean Bean, but if you had done half of what you did today to me the other day when we were practicing, you would have had me laid out flat."_ _

__"Thanks a lot, Daddy," I say, but I guess it's true. "I wasn't acting alone."_ _

__Papa nods. "Dean, can you control Old Dean?"_ _

__"I'm not sure, Papa." And I'm not. I mean, I held him back long enough to argue, but if Old Dean thought he couldn't have done what he did with me, would he have just taken over? I don't know. "This time, it was like, we were working together."_ _

__Papa doesn't like hearing that, but I can see he's having a hard knowing what to make of it. Michael, however, has no problems. "You were working _with_ him?"_ _

__"Michael, calm down."_ _

__"I will not calm down. You could have gotten yourself killed."_ _

__Papa stays out of our little dispute – to my surprise – letting me answer to Michael. "I don't think he would have killed me. He could have, easily. There was a moment with his gun back there, he could have pulled it out and shot me, but he wasn't interested in that. He just wanted to kill Uncle Dal."_ _

__"That doesn't help. You don't know he wouldn't have shot you; maybe it was simply a matter of not being able to reach it."_ _

__"He could reach it fine Michael and he had plenty of time – I'm telling you, he didn't want to."_ _

__Daddy's face is hard as he's listening, but I can tell he's working hard not to break down. "I'm sorry Daddy, but I just couldn't stand there and let him go for Uncle Dal."_ _

__"I know sweetheart. I know, but," he sighs. "I'm not sure what I know right now, except I'm glad you're all right and I don't want you out of my sight for the rest of the evening."_ _

__Well that's expected, I guess. And fair._ _

__Papa agrees. "I don't know if you can, but keep 'Old Dean' under lock and key for the rest of the night as well as being within sight of Daddy, understood?"_ _

__"Yes, sir." Papa may be in a mood to pander to me, but arguing with him right now would be a bad idea._ _

__"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure you have fun tonight. Michael same goes for you – you don't leave my sight either."_ _

__"What? I'm not the one who allowed myself to be puppeteered by a dead hunter."_ _

__"Are you really going to take your eyes off Dean anyway?" Daddy asks, having none of his nonsense._ _

__"Absolutely not."_ _

__"Well since he's going to be with me, then it really doesn't make much difference, does it?"_ _

__"I guess not," he mutters._ _

__"Lordy be, Michael." Daddy tugs on his hat. "What do you think, Cas? We done here? Should we go out and enjoy the rest of the wedding?"_ _

__"For now. Let's go have a good time," Papa says, but I can hear it in his voice, he's concerned as hell._ _

__Daddy helps me back into my jacket. "I want you icing that big bruise at least ten more minutes," he says, guiding my hand with the bag of ice back over the largest bruise after I've got my jacket on. Papa places my hat back on my head and Michael takes my free hand. Together, we head to the backyard._ _

__

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~**~

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__Dals won't let go of the poor kid's hand, but probably knowing he's got a lot to make up for, he bears it and I just enjoy. No one's even brought up the topic of, 'how little will Jake get' yet, or how that's gonna come about – I guess a chat with Sam will happen at some point. There's a lot of chatting that has to happen._ _

__It looks like Dean's not any better off, with his entourage surrounding him. We have to make a few changes to the seating at the head table, but we end up with Jake in the middle of me and Dallas, Dean to Dallas's left and Sam to Dean's left. Cas generously allowed Michael to sit beside Sam, I'm assuming to be closer to Dean and Cas is to the left of Michael._ _

__I get it. We're all crazy protective over our little ones and well, sue us. That's how things are around here. Father has the yard taken care of and I've got to say, he's really come through for us. He seemed insensitive about the whole Jake thing, but it's more like, he knew what would happen, so he didn't see sense in worrying over it. We still haven't found out how Father pulled off the adoption, or how he knew about the spiking – because that's what I'm calling it even if Jake did go there himself, hell, even if he shot it into his own arm, it's still a spiking._ _

__"I have to pee," Jake says._ _

__"Okay, Daddy'll take you then," Dallas says. He's half-teasing, half-enjoying, with the 'Daddy' thing. Ever since it became official, his sunshine smile came back full force._ _

__"You've got to be kidding me. Even to pee?"_ _

__"Even to pee."_ _

__"Well I… I want Papa to take me," he tests._ _

__Dallas looks anxious, but he nods toward me. I hold out my hand for the kid. "Come with me kid, but you're holding my hand."_ _

__"Ugh, fine."_ _

__"You know, I think you've already reached your teens with the way you're acting." I can't resist getting a tease in on the kid, he makes it too easy. Dean glares at Jake as we walk by._ _

__"What's his problem?" Jake asks._ _

__"I think he plans on socking you one. He did not like how upset his uncle Dals was." Neither do I, I don't add. I'll let him know soon enough with the spanking I plan on giving him._ _

__"Yeah, I guess I owe him too. Are… are you pissed at me too?"_ _

__"A little, but I'll get over it, Jake-a-roo." I'd rub his head if he weren't wearing the Chesney hat, instead I squeeze his hand._ _

__When we reach the powder room, I usher him inside. "I'm surprised you're not following me in."_ _

__"I can."_ _

__"No thank you." He runs away, shutting the door in my face and I laugh. While I wait, Caroline passes by. She's got mini-Dals with her._ _

__"Hey there, little big brother," she says. Yeah. She started that some time back. Liked it so much it stuck. She did that is. "Congratulations, you're finally, officially family – though you always were in my books."_ _

__"Yeah, and we got a kid already too," I say damn proud._ _

__"Yes, congratulations on becoming a Papa too. I can't wait to get to know him."_ _

__"How's little Dals? He okay after…?" He was right by Michael when everything happened._ _

__"He wants Mama, but other than that he's okay. He's a bit concerned for his friend Michael, but we'll go have a visit."_ _

__Caroline moseys on after that and Jake finally comes out of the restroom. I don't know if it's because I _know_ now, but looking at him more critically, he does look younger. He already came to us pretty young if you ask me – twenty-five's not old – but he looks younger that that. How old is he now? I know they went through and still go through this with Dean. I don't know how Castiel and Sam lived with that uncertainty on their own. I plan to accept their guidance and experience readily. I am glad his foot's healed because of the Modlenol. "Took you long enough."_ _

__"I was baskin' in the alone time, I'm never likely to have again."_ _

__"If you're lookin' for sympathy, look somewhere else. You ain't gonna find any here, boy." I hold out my hand for him and he takes it if a little peeved. Maybe a lot peeved, but I just smile. "You shouldn't have run off."_ _

__We head back to Dallas and not a moment too soon. Dals already looks ready to send another search party out, like maybe he thought Jake was going to jump out the bathroom window. The relief on his face almost breaks my heart again. Jake must see it too. "Sorry I was gone so long, I, I, had to wash my face and stuff," he says sweetly and easily wins _Daddy_ over._ _

__I can see Dallas being a strict parent, he is strict, but right now, he'll give Jake the moon if he wants it. Unless it means going to the moon by himself then Jake can forget it._ _

__I take my place on the other side of Jake rather than next to my new husband. From there, the night's a lot different than we planned, but neither of us would have wanted it any other way._ _

__

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~**~

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__It's after dinner I finally feel okay with Jake taking off with Dean to enjoy the party. They're both instructed to stay within sight and it helps that Michael's going to be with them. As Sam and I watch them from where we are at the table, I feel like I did watching Dean when he was little at the playground. I'd be on the edge of the sandbox, while he played with the other kids, and I chatted Sam, or other parents. It's a good feeling, but like it was back then, there's always an eye out looking and the distracted tension of worrying your kid's going to fall off the slide._ _

__It's irrational, but I just can't get my brain (or my heart) to reconcile that Jake's not going anywhere. I'm a rational person, so I know my paranoia will wear off, but that's for another day; for now, I'm allowing myself to worry all I want and Jake will just have to deal._ _

__"Sam, can I ask you some questions?"_ _

__"'Course little brother. Let me guess, Jake and modifying, yeah?"_ _

__"Yeah. This is gonna suck, ain't it?"_ _

__"I don't envy you that's for sure, but you've got us to help. We did it by ourselves and we made it, so you and Chris will be okay too," he says with a wink._ _

__"Any idea when that's gonna to start?"_ _

__He shakes his head. "It's pretty random and from what I've read, varies from kid to kid, but there are signs and I'll help you look for'em. He's clearly already modified once, but it doesn't look by much, so maybe Jake'll be slower than Dean."_ _

__"Thanks, Sammy. I appreciate any and all help." I really do. I'm scared as heck for him to go through the transformation. I know he'll be all right, but Sammy's told me how painful it was for Dean. "Any idea how little he'll get?" I can't help it. I'm kinda excited for that part. I would have wanted Jake no matter what age he was, but having a little Jake, imagining how cute he'll look, hits me right in the feels._ _

__"Can't help you there either, but again, there are signs of it slowing. I'm pretty read up on the stuff not to mention what we've learned going through it and from the various professionals that have worked with Dean over the years. You're in good hands little brother."_ _

__That does make me feel better._ _

__"My first suggestion is we find out how long ago Jen and Jared found him, in other words, how long it's been since he last modified."_ _

__There are a few questions I'd like to ask them, for starters, why didn't they let us know as soon as they found Jake? "By the sounds of it, recent. I'm thinkin' yesterday, but I'll confirm it."_ _

__"Yesterday's good if that's the case. You probably have a couple of days or so until the next time, but he's going to need plenty of sleep."_ _

__I take in all the information Sam tells me. Knowing he's there to help takes away some of my concern over the whole thing. I know kids, but I don't know anything about the growing-down phase of modifying – I missed all that with Dean._ _

__Chris returns and sets down a beer in front of me. "Can I buy you a drink, cowboy?" he says with a kiss to my cheek._ _

__"Everyday for forever," I tell him._ _

__He rubs my arm and tries to read my soul. "You okay, Dals? Today's been a lot."_ _

__"Today's been a lot, " I agree. "But today's also been perfect in everyway. How you doing?"_ _

__"Same as you, but I'll definitely be sleeping good tonight."_ _

__I smile and lean in for a kiss from my husband._ _

__"There you are," he says. "Fuck I missed you, Dals."_ _

__"I'm sorry, Chris. But I'm back now and I'm not leaving again."_ _

__

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~**~

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__"All night, it's been going on all night," Jake complains. "When's he gonna let up? It's not like I was gone long."_ _

__"You were gone for a week and it was the week from hell if you ask me."_ _

__"If you got a score to settle with me, Dean then settle it."_ _

__"With our parents watching us like hawks? I don't think so, Jake."_ _

__"Yeah, I guess not, but I want you to stop being mad at me."_ _

__"I'm sure I will, eventually, but not easily. It was awful to see Uncle Dal in so much pain. Even Michael couldn't stand it," I say nudging him with my elbow. "Tell him Michael."_ _

__Michael scowls at me. "The human was inconsolable."_ _

__I roll my eyes at that. If only Jake could have seen what that really meant._ _

__"Well I'm sorry all right? But you would have done the same in my situation."_ _

__"No he wouldn't have," Michael cuts in. "Or I'll give him the spanking of his life." He's clearly talking to Old Dean, which I'm really starting to realize is just me too even if it doesn't exactly feel like me anymore and even if I talk to Old Dean like he's another person. Yeah, I know that's fucking confusing. How do you think I feel?_ _

__"Calm down Michael. Go talk to Daddy or something." I feel like I'm saying that a lot and I know I'm being rude, but he seriously needs to chill._ _

__"I will in fact go talk with Daddy Winchester, but _you_ will watch your tone. I don't appreciate being spoken to like that, am I understood?"_ _

__"Yes, sir." Jeez._ _

__Jake and I watch Michael storm off, me biting my lip. I'm being kind of a dick. Okay, a lot a dick. He's doing his job, I'm not._ _

__"Somehow, I feel like I should apologize for that too," he says, nocking his head toward Michael. "Dean I… I really didn't think me leaving was going to cause this much turmoil."_ _

__Y'know? I believe him. This doesn't get him out of the pummeling I have planned for him, but I know he's sincere in thinking he wasn't going to be as missed as he was, which makes no sense. We fucking talked about it. "I tell you what Jake, let's have us some fun tonight. We'll worry about you getting your comeuppance in the morning."_ _

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~**~

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__Jake and I do have fun – highly monitored, Daddy approved fun, but it's still fun. Eventually, Jake is pulled away. Something about him looking tired and Uncle Dal worrying about his recovering from his last modification and him needing to sit for a bit. I do begin to feel a bit sorry for him when he's left with Daddy, so Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris can go have their first dance._ _

__Michael's with them and I guess I should go over and apologize. He looks all sad and pathetic, but he seems to have cooled off some. I don't know what Daddy said to him, but the fire's gone. I make my way over to the head table. "Oh thank Christ, Dean," Jake says. "Say somethin', anythin' to get me out of this purgatory."_ _

__"Dean's not saying anything, Sur," Daddy says. "You're supposed to be resting."_ _

__"I'm not tired."_ _

__He can't see it, he doesn't have the eyes I have for this kind of thing – not yet anyway – but Daddy's in no mood for his arguing. And yes, once again, especially with what his absence put everyone through. "One more word about not tired out of you Jake, and I'm happy to have this conversation with you over my knee. Won't the wedding guests like to see that show?"_ _

__Daddy's in the mood to do it too. Jake throws a silent temper tantrum, but he leans back in his chair, covers his face with hat and 'rests'. "Lordy be," Daddy says. "How you feeling Dean Bean?"_ _

__"Good. I need to talk to Michael. Michael can we talk?" I hold out my hand for him, hoping he'll take it, he does. "We'll be nearby, Daddy. Tell us when we can have Jake back."_ _

__"That's up to Uncle Dal, I'm just the warden."_ _

__"Least you've got that part right," Jake mumbles._ _

__Both Daddy and I are amused by him. "Yeah, okay. We'll check back."_ _

__I pull Michael over to the cake table, since no one seems to be around it. We're both looking at each other shyly and while I thought this was going to be a simple 'I'm sorry,' I'm lost for words and I say the first thing that comes to my head. "Rumor has it, Anderson spiked the punch."_ _

__That makes him smile and pull me to him. "I'm sorry Michael, I should be more sympathetic to your worrying over me."_ _

__"You should," he agrees. "But I just… I don't want to fight with you, not ever really, but especially not tonight. Besides, I get to spank you later and won't that be fun?"_ _

__"Haven't you spanked me enough this week?"_ _

__"Clearly not."_ _

__Our make-up kiss is PG-13, but one I think even Daddy would approve of in public (which is good since he's within sight) and Michael and I are staring at each other all googly-eyed. My heart is hammering in my chest and squeezing hard at the same time. There's some kind of magic in the air tonight – a Cupid's euphoria._ _

__Uncle Dal's and Uncle Chris's first dance ends and it's clear they both want to get back to Jake, but they're interrupted by Grampa who takes the stage before their band does. "I say, now I say that was some weddin'. Excitin' as all get out. I want to assure everyone all has been taken care of and we're in for more fun tonight." Grampa has a quality about him; when he says everything's gonna be okay with conviction like that, people are eased by it. "I want to congratulate my son, Christian and welcome my new son, Dallas, s'well as my new Grandson Jake," he says proud as hell. "May y'all have as long and as beautiful a life together as me and my Claire." And that's a sappy as Grampa gets. "Time for some music." Grampa looks to me and winks I have no idea what it's for, until I see who walks out on stage._ _

__"No way. No freaking way! He didn't?" I say to Michael._ _

__""What? What's going on?"_ _

__I don't know how Grampa pulled this one off, but out pops the man himself, the one who is revered by all three of the newest family of Winchesters: Kenny Chesney._ _

__It's really fun to watch both Uncle Dal's and Uncle Chris's eyes bug out of their heads. I look to Jake, he almost falls out of his chair, scrambling to stand up. The eyes he gives in Uncle Dal's direction are priceless – still making sure not to say a word to Daddy about not resting, lest he make true on his threat – and Uncle Dal crooks a finger at him. Jake jumps up running to join his new dads._ _

__While Kenny freaking Chesney starts in with, _"One word, that's all you said. Somethin' in your voice caused me to turn my head…"_ I can't help it, I start laughing. It's one of the most beautiful moments I've ever seen and I'm laughing hysterical because there's something hilarious about this moment, but I'm also laughing because I'm overjoyed; it's also just a really happy moment._ _

__Since Michael and I seem to be a ridiculous amount in sync these days, he sees what I see and he starts laughing too. He grips me under my armpits spinning me, spinning both of us laughing and what began as a mix of inappropriate laughter at the insanity that Kenny Chesney is the band and joy metamorphoses into the purest joy. I've never heard Michael laugh so freely, even throwing his head back, letting it run through him; fill him up._ _

__When he sets me down, he looks at me like I'm the most amazing thing he's ever seen. "God I love you, Dean. I love you." Michael rarely refers to God – his _real_ father – and whenever he's said it, I'm pretty sure he's letting himself touch that part of him, the purest part, that loves his father no matter what happened before. In any case, it doesn't mean anything bad, but the opposite; it means the most it could mean._ _

__His eyes are sparkling and there's a single tear plinko-ing down his cheek. I reach out to catch it. "Lucky angel tear," I say, since he's always saying how important angel tears are and that we should save'em. "I love you Michael. Love you." We rub noses, butterfly kissing._ _

__When we come out of our bubble, we both survey the crowd. Everyone's dancing now. Papa's found Daddy, who waves at me, dancing away enjoying the song, which has changed now to something more upbeat._ _

__Colts and Winchesters are partying and the wedding has turned out to be a great cap on this turn of events._ _

__Jake's enjoying the hell out of Kenny Chesney, but more than that, he's enjoying Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris. Uncle Chris tugs on the brim of the Chesney hat smiling and Jake takes it off, somehow knowing it's time to pass it back, and places it on Uncle Chris's head._ _

__Okay, no, _that's_ the cap on this turn of events. Michael and I sway to the music, and Uncle Dal looks over to us with the best Uncle Dal smile I've seen in a long time. "Love you," he mouths and goes back to enjoying his new family._ _

__Things can't get better. I'm glad it's all over. Because it is over, isn't it?_ _

__Okay, yeah. I'm not dumb enough to believe that, but since I'm pretty sure nothing else bad is gonna happen for the rest of the night, I pretend all is okay. For now._ _

____

__~**Snuggle-mission**~_ _

__"Where do you think you're going?" Michael's leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom because he has stupid angel hearing and won't just let me walk by in peace. He _knows__ where I'm going._  


__"Papa and Daddy's room." There has been a serious lack of cuddles lately to collect on._ _

__Michael looks around. "Well, I want to come too."_ _

__I knew it. "C'mon."_ _

__We creep down the hall, in the fucking dark. It's the middle of the night. The wedding is still happening – Colts don't know when to go home – but some of us got tired…and maybe sent to bed. I didn't mind so much, since Papa and Daddy said they were going to bed too. As we prowl around in the dark, a body comes around the corner. We jump, but it's only Jake._ _

__"How did you escape?" I whisper to him._ _

__"Hunter. Had to pee and I'd thank you not to mention this."_ _

__I laugh. "Yeah, yeah. Night dickweasel."_ _

__"Night, bitchface."_ _

__That's how Jake and I say 'I love you.'_ _

__Michael and I carry on to Papa and Daddy's room and I place my hand on the knob. "Have you really not learned after all this time?" Michael says._ _

__"Good point, but can't you, uh, listen? If they're asleep, I don't want to wake them."_ _

__"There is no chance, none, that I'm listening for sounds of your parents having sex. We either interrupt them, or go back to our rooms."_ _

__"Fine." I knock on the door._ _

__"Who is it?" Papa says._ _

__"It's Dean and Michael."_ _

__I hear hushed whispering and then Papa saying, "come in."_ _

__We enter. "So, uh, c'we sleep with you guys?" The bed here is much bigger than the one at Granddaddy and Nana Colt's. There's plenty of room._ _

__"Of course you can Dean Bean. Are you sore?"_ _

__I am a little, but that's not why I came in here. Still, I'm using it. "A little, Daddy."_ _

__"Oh. C'mere baby boy."_ _

__I climb onto the bed between Papa and Daddy, just in case Papa wants to scratch my back._ _

__"Michael, what are you doing?" Daddy asks._ _

__He was about to make himself a home on the cold floor. "Lying down."_ _

__Daddy's having none of that. He opens the covers. "Get your little butt in here Michael."_ _

__Michael doesn't even put on a token protest. He climbs in on Daddy's side._ _

__"For the love of all that is holy, can we please go to sleep?" Papa complains. He must be in a good mood still from all the wedding fun if he's even bothering to plead with us._ _

__"Why do you think we came in here, Papa? I'm exhausted." I yawn. Maybe demon fighting took more out of me than I thought it did._ _

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~**~

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__I hear the click of a door and it jolts me. "Jake?"_ _

__"Dammit," he whispers in the dark. "Here. I only went pee."_ _

__Yeah, we know we're being over the top, but we get one full day of it and one full night. "You go pee and I want to hear about it, at least for tonight, understood?"_ _

__"Yes, sir. Jeez."_ _

__"Jake?" Chris says in a croaky voice._ _

__"I'm here. I still think someone coulda found me a room elsewhere in this palace. Don't you two have a wedding to consummate?"_ _

__"You let me worry about that," I tell him sternly. "How you feeling?" He's up later than I would have allowed if it wasn't the middle of a wedding. As it was, I pulled him away earlier than he was expecting, telling him I was going to bed and so was he._ _

__"I'm good. Promise," he says climbing up onto the bed. I hate to say it, but it's a better arrangement here for this kind of thing than at my parent's. Chris and I talked about taking Jake to his place tomorrow, but we both decided we'd rather be near Sam for when he changes again._ _

__Jake's a bit timid about snuggling in. He's sitting at the end of the bed. I can make him out pretty good by the light of the moon in the white t-shirt and pajama pants we scrounged up for him. He looks so young sitting there, unsure._ _

__"C'mere, Jake-a-roo," Chris says, his eyes still closed, voice thick with sleep reaching an arm out and waving him over._ _

__Jake crawls across the large bed and we open the covers for him so he can climb into the middle of us. I reach out to pull him to me and Chris begins scratching Jake's back in his sleep. I know he says he feels fine, but he seems off. Like maybe he's wound up – so tired he can't sleep – and he's uncharacteristically timid for Jake. Sure he's still sassy as ever, but I notice the apprehension there, like he's unsure of himself, like I might turn him away. That won't change his reaction; Jake usually responds with anger and since I don't know what to ask him, without pissing him off just now, I go with humming instead and carding my hand through his hair. I'd been picking a song for him just for him, while he was gone, on my guitar when I'd get a few moments to myself. I thought he'd never hear it. It feels good to hum it to him._ _

__After awhile he relaxes and he drifts off into a dead sleep. His poor body is beat. Chris reaches across and interlaces his fingers with mine. "How you doin', Dals?"_ _

__"I'm perfect Chris. Beyond perfect. You?"_ _

__"Me too. We got work ahead of ourselves an' I don't even care. I'm looking forward to it."_ _

__"Me too Darlin'," I say feeling so grateful for both of my boys. I squeeze Chris's hand. "I love you, Husband."_ _

__I can feel him smiling in the dark. "Love you too, Husband."_ _


	47. Grampa Clyde: Totally Awesome Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have three chapters for this to post, so you can settle in and have a nice read! Took me forever to edit this time. I kept "needing" to add things. 
> 
> Still another little shout out to the thing Bam4Me wrote. My muse just wrote a little thing and I realized after it was a spin off to Bam's thing, but it fit, so I left it. I think it's a good ode to. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. The next two chapters will be along soon. Also, have some stuff for For You coming too! I think I have 2 or 3 for that. Soon! Soon!

I'm awoken by a foot in my face. For two sleepy moments, I'm transported back to years ago, when waking up with a foot in my face was a common occurrence. Dean found his way into our bed a lot back then and as always, Sam helped him – I couldn't always say no. Like last night. Yes Sam and I were trying to have sex when he interrupted. Yes we were both on our way to the promised land. At least he knocked this time.

Sam looks across at me over Dean's calve, having to turn his head since he's lying on his back. He's in his own predicament with Michael latched onto him like an octopus. "I wish we could take a picture, Cassy," Sam whispers.

I have to roll my eyes. There have been many pictures taken of these two sleeping over the years. Sure maybe not just like this, but close enough as far as I'm concerned. "We should wake them." We need to be dressed at my father's table and it's getting late. My parents will want to eat a nice breakfast before church.

"I know," Sam says kissing Michael's head. "They just, they both need this. Y'know?"

I nod. "Okay, you lay with them a bit longer, I'll shower."

When I come out, I see that Dean seems to have woken on his own, since he and Sam are wrapped up in conversation. Dean's smiling, twirling the blanket in his fingers, lying at an awkward angle so he can see Sam, but still manages to lie with his head at the end of the bed. I love the way Sam stares at our boy, like he's salt of the Earth, the sun shining on them both. Michael's still asleep on Sam, which surprises me – did he have to use his limited grace to bolster his strength in fighting the demon yesterday?

I can't help but notice he's mostly in the shade, with only the tiniest wisps of sunlight touching him. It's like a metaphor. He's in the dark unless he's touched by my two boys. I become fascinated with this idea and it's because I'm watching him, I notice: Michael twitches in his sleep. It's not the regular kind of twitching – we all twitch in our sleep to some degree – it's a violent, scared, sort of twitching. I'm not sure if Sam knows, probably, but if he does he pays it no mind, carding fingers through Michael's hair, arm wrapped around him, eyes focused on Dean, brain focused on their conversation.

Michael's definitely twitching though, and even in sleep, he's trying to hold back, confine his real feelings; having been so conditioned to, he even does it while unconscious. There's a wrinkle in his brow and anguish trapped within the lines of his face. But there's also something pure about him. It's only the smallest of slivers; something saved, never touched by the horrors he's faced and he's protecting it, keeping it for himself to use as he wishes, keeping it from being tainted.

"Papa, we're remembering the time Uncle Dal dressed up like Santa for Christmas and Uncle Chris kissed him while he was in costume by mistake."

I remember that time. It was funny. Dean was four and we had to act out this whole fake scene where Christian told Dallas what he did and Dallas 'spanked' him for it. "Yeah," I say sitting down and joining in. We continue reminiscing, "didn't you say I asked Michael to punch Santa, Daddy?" Dean asks, and I notice my shadow has blocked the sparse bit of sunlight that was touching Michael.

"Yeah and you blamed Tigger for it of course – said the punching was his idea."

_It bothers me. The sun thing. Why does it bother me?_

Dean laughs. "Tigger. He was great. You think he's still around?"

My attention perks. Dean and Tigger were both cute and disturbing. It's usual for a kid to pretend his best stuffed pal is real, it's even possible for him to believe it, but Dean was so earnest about it, he had the adults, well, not believing – we never quite went that far – but questioning. "Around? I thought he 'left' when you were five?"

Dean laughs. "Do you still believe that Papa? I meant around as in around the house? I was thinking maybe I'd give him to Jake as a getting-small present."

To save face, I focus on Michael again.

_It's not right. His twitching seems worse. There's no light to counter his darkness._

"I hope you're not doing that to goad him Dean. He's going to need us to be kind to him."

_I can't stand it._

"No Daddy. I'll wait 'till he'll actually appreciate it."

"That's nice, Dean bean. I'm sure I can find him for you."

I could just get up that would, solve the thing that's become a problem; I move and the sun will return to Michael. But I don’t want to feel like I'm part of the thing contributing to the pained, hysteria I see.

_This whole thing has become absurd._

"I miss those days sometimes," I say, not knowing I was going to say it myself, until the words came out of my mouth. I'm too distracted.

"Well, they're coming back. Where do you think they'll live?" Dean asks. "Hey, maybe I can move in with Uncle Dal, like he did for us. Wasn't he the same age I am now?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Winchester," I say. "Besides, you wouldn't last a week before you came home to your daddy." I move slightly to left to squeeze Dean's foot, and it opens up the sun in Michael's direction, when I let Dean's foot go, Michael's shrouded in darkness again.

Dean laughs. "You're probably right, Papa. You're always right. Annoyingly so."

"And what about me?" Sam says. "I'm not ready for you to leave me yet, Sur."

We spend a few more minutes reminiscing before we have to wake the sleeping angel and get everyone else dressed for breakfast.

Until that time, I position my body, just left enough, Michael can be touched by sunlight.

~**~

"I'm fine, Dallas," says Jake's grouchy voice. He doesn't sound fine. He sounds like a cranky toddler.

"Lordy be, Jake. Maybe you should go back to bed," I hear Uncle Dal say, but it's an empty threat, at least for now. It's Sunday and we're all about to have breakfast in Gramma and Grampa's kitchen, which means all of us are dressed for breakfast, but after, we'll recess and pretty ourselves up for church.

There's a ton of work to do today. Grampa's hired people to help with clean up, but Colts insisted they come by and help too, so we're all going to pitch in, after church.

Not only does Jake sound like a cranky toddler, he looks like one too. Even I think he should go back to bed. He slumps down in the chair Uncle Dal directs him to, which is adjacent to me. Lucky me. "Heya Jake," I say trying not to laugh. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nobody believes I'm fine and I hate having to say it every five seconds."

"We'll believe you when you start acting, fine," I tell him. "Here, orange juice," I say, pouring him a glass from the pitcher. I know Jake likes orange juice.

I catch Uncle Dal smiling from the corner of my eye. Uncle Chris bounces down the stairs, looking giddy; ready to start his new life with Uncle Dal and Jake. His excitement even catches to Jake, who can't help smiling at his new Papa.

When we're all seated, I ask what's on everyone's mind. "So Grampa, spill. How'd you pull this off?"

"Dean," Papa scolds. Yeah I'm being cheeky, but I'm the only one here that can get away with asking; Papa knows it too and I know he wants to know.

"That's okay, Castiel. Now's 'a good 'a time as any. I don't mind spilling the beans. No offence to y'all, but my bets were on Jared and Jensen finding Jake first."

"No offence taken Grampa," I say and that earns me a beaming smile from him.

"Before Jensen and Jared left, I made sure they knew to notify me first, once they'd found anything."

Anyone who knows Grampa, understands why he'd do that and we don't need explanation. He's the Head of this family and he controls how information that could harm his crew is released and dealt with. Putting myself in Grampa's shoes, I can see his thinking. He's got everyone here in an uproar and a son, plus a son-in-law who are a mess. Even if Jake was found, no one knew what his plans were. Was he running off for good? Would he be found dead? There were any number of terrible possibilities and Grampa was going to find out first so he could guide the situation in the way that would give the best possible outcome for the family.

"Once they'd found him, day before the wedding, I spoke with Jake directly. " Jake visibly shudders – Grampa can be intimidating – thinking about that conversation no doubt. "Once I knew the situation, I was able to get the papers in order." Of course he could. Grampa can get done in minutes, what it would take weeks for regular people to do.

"We decided Jake would be a good wedding surprise. The demons were a surprise we didn't count on. But something wasn't right. I felt it in the air, though I couldn't put my finger on it. When Jensen and Jared arrived, they thought so too, so they were on guard, but honestly, we didn't know they were there."

"Yeah," Jake pipes in. "It was on the way back I… remembered something the demon had said, led me to believe he was coming here, but stupid traffic. I mean, well, I didn't remember something exactly. I couldn't for the life of me remember the specifics actually, I just… suddenly _knew_ I was about to be crossed and that a demon would be here; didn't count on the two. I got behind Jensen and Jared and I had no more cell phone to let them know. I rushed to get here. Almost didn't make it in time." His voice breaks slightly and he looks to Uncle Dal.

"Why was he after me?" Uncle Dal asks.

"Well it sounds like blackmail me, from what I wrote in the letter to myself—"

"—I'd really like to see that letter," Uncle Dal cuts in.

"—but also because I killed his boyfriend. Jesus Christ, I didn't know demons had love lives." Not sure anyone knew that.

"Jake," both Uncle Dal and Daddy scold at the same time.

"Sorry." He rolls his eyes. "I don't remember it bein' this strict around here – is it always like this?"

"Yes," I answer for the crowd. "You'll get used to it."

"Ugh." He digs into his food, signaling to the rest of us he's done talking.

"So that's the demon story, how about how you got Kenny Chesney to come down here for the wedding?" I ask.

"Wait," Jake interrupts suddenly, not able to help himself. "What about the bodies? I never did see what happened. Everyone still freaking out over that?"

We all exchange a look. That's yet another thing we don't need explaining for that maybe outsiders do. Grampa, he's got ins with everyone: Law enforcement, the church, hell the local coffee guy. He just needs to call his people and the whole thing disappears. As for the guests, they were mostly Colts and Winchesters. Any family friends are also crowd Grampa and Gramma would have been able to tag team, explain the need for discretion and who would have been amendable, likely having asked the same of my grandparents in past. That's just the kind of friends we keep. The odd guest that might have been the date of someone, well, not much can be done about them, but who they going to tell really? Anyone they did tell will likely think them crazy; the proof will be long by now if I know Grampa and I do, so there's nothing to worry over.

I pat Jake on the back. "Don't you worry about that Jakey. I'll fill you in on family roles and such."

That effectively turns the conversation onto happier trails and Grampa tells the story about how he got to having Kenny Chesney at the wedding. Even Jake's interested in that story.

We're all excused to get changed for church and I shouldn't be surprised to have Daddy following me with how concerned everyone's been over everything, but I am a little and I'm going to be complaining like Jake pretty soon if things don't cool down. Daddy stops me before I start. "Before you think about complaining," Daddy says reading my mind. "I'm checking your bruises and such, it's my prerogative."

Michael watches as Daddy peels off my shirt and checks me over. He's got his arms crossed and the he's vibrating with concern, especially when he sees my bruises, because as it goes with bruises, they're worse the next day. "He looks worse than he is Michael," Daddy says, pointing me to the closet where I've hung my nice church shirt, not needing to look at Michael to know what's running across his face.

"This is unfair," Michael says like a surly teen.

"And when you grow up and become a parent, you'll do things differently?" Daddy says finding me black slacks from my suitcase, amused.

"You don't know what it's like and this is the second time in only three weeks."

Daddy rolls his eyes as I slide into my shirt. "I thought you were supposed to remember everything? He hurt himself several times a day as a toddler."

"That's not the point."

"This isn't a discussion Michael."

It's hard not to laugh at how irritated Michael is. Daddy lays my slacks on the bed. "I want to put some more arnica on it later. But you're fine for now. I'll leave you two – Michael I have a job for you later."

Michael's so mad he doesn't even answer, only acknowledging Daddy with a resigned glare. "Nobody cares about what I think," he says when Daddy's gone.

He's a level of pouty Michael doesn't usually resort to. I feel a bit sorry for him. "Awww, Baby. I do." I've got my shirt on now, so at least the carnage is out of sight.

"A lot of good that does me."

That I laugh at. He doesn't mean anything by it, now he's teasing. "Can I interest you in a before church blow job?"

I get a hefty slap to my ass. "What sense does that make? You were just complaining about me bein' hurt."

"I have no issue with bruising your ass, which is what I'm going to do if you ask again. I already told you the rule on that."

"Whatever." What? It's Papa that doesn't like that word Michael's… okay, he's fucking glaring harder now, but he's not handing out spankings and, or lines like Papa would be.

"You're on thin ice Dean. _Thin._ "

Okay, so maybe he doesn't like it much either and also, maybe I shouldn't poke at him just yet. "I'm sorry, I'm just horny."

He yanks me to him by the wrist, plants a hand on my back and kisses the life out of me. "Freebie, but if you don't start behaving Dean, I'm handing out steeper consequences. Understand? I'm in no mood to be trifled with."

Jeez. He's gonna be super-strict today. "Yes, sir."

~**~

_He's only in the shower Dallas._ Things are better today, but darn, the more Jake's here, the more I realize how much him being gone affected me. The shower running isn't solace enough – he could be jumping out the window – I have to listen for the squicks and squeaks of him moving against the tub and it takes the edge off my anxiety.

I set to work, finding him something suitable for church, when Chris enters, a goofy grin on his face. "Here, was able to get this stuff from Michael for Jake to wear, Baby," he says placing the stuff on the bed and pulling me in for a kiss.

I smile huge and soft, as I admire him and make sure to run a finger over where his wedding ring sits. I'm reminded we still have a wedding to consummate and he is too if the hungry look in his eyes is anything to go by. I slip a hand down to his cock. Yep. Hard as nails and I wonder if maybe Sam, or Cas could watch Jake for just a few moments; sex apparently able to short-circuit the 'worry' part of my brain.

Before I can carry that thought any further, Jake abruptly storms out of the bathroom, holding a towel around his waist, dripping water all over the carpet. "Jake," I scold, dropping Chris's cock like a hot potato. "You're still soaked."

"Well I need underwear, Daddy," he says, his eyes alight with mischief. Darn him for being so charming.

Chris moves to his underwear drawer, pulling out a new box of SAXX. "Here, Jakey. These are new, never worn. Sold the president of the company his favorite hunting rifle awhile back and he shipped me more than I'll ever wear. Got them all over the place. Some extra at my apartment too – hear that Jake? With me as your papa, you'll never go underwearless."

I laugh and that actually gets Chris a smile from Jake too. "Thanks."

"Michael loaned you these," I say unfolding the shirt for him, then I move to retrieve a second towel from the ensuite bathroom, so I can dry off my dripping boy.

"You expect me to wear clothes from an angel? Forget it."

I love that boy with all my heart, but he needs a serious attitude adjustment. Chris obviously feels the same. "Let's talk about that," he says in that cool Winchester way you know means trouble for you, least I know it; Jake's about to find out.

When I return with the towel, Jake's upended, over Chris's knee, the towel Jake was wearing having fallen open and Chris is laying in some decent smacks to his bare bottom. He doesn't bother lecturing in this case, it's a simple matter of too sassy and Jake knows it. "I'm sorry! Ow! I'll wear'em. I'll – ouch!"

"You will wear them," Chris says, not to be reckoned with.

"Yes, ow! _Sir._ "

It's not a long spanking either, just firm. He's stood up and rubbing at his stinging bottom in no time. I swoop in with my fresh towel and begin drying him off. "He spanked me," Jake tattles.

"And it's lucky for you. I was about to and I was bringing a hairbrush. You need a real spanking, my boy, but we'll take care of that after church." He's still owed a spanking for taking off like he did and anything else Chris thinks is appropriate. That shuts Jake up, for about five minutes as I work on drying his legs and feet, then move onto this torso. I wrap the towel around him after I make good on drying his hair. "Get dressed and be a good boy," I say, giving his bum a good smack. He glares at me.

"C'n I go find Dean?" he asks when he's dressed.

I take a big inhale, because yeah, I've got to let him roam free around the house for Petesake. I don't want to. I admit it, but it's a selfish thing. He's… how old is he right now? Nineteen? Twenty? I'm not sure. Old enough to be let free in the house. "Yeah, go ahead, Jakey. But wait." I hand him my cellphone. "Take this. Text Chris's cell if you need us."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Pretty sure I'll be okay in the house, though."

"Jake."

"Yes, sir."

Jake takes off quickly, realizing I could change my mind at any second. Chris is left, staring at me, surprised. "You sure you wanted to do that?"

"No. Distract me?"

"You do remember we've been spanked for being late for church before, yeah?"

I remember. "We won't be late. We'll be quick," I say pulling out my cock. I'm not going to fuck him. I want to save that for later (if we ever get later again), a proper love making session, right now, I just want him to suck my dick. He's happy to oblige me.

He knocks me onto the bed and sucks me down all in one go. I'm lost in the sensation of Chris's wet mouth. He knows just where to tease his tongue and just how to play with my balls. My hips buck and push into his mouth more and because he's a cocksucking wizard, he can take it. His mouth pulls off then slips down my shaft again and I watch, transfixed at the way his lips move over my cock. He's got so much love there and, dang, I don't think that look of 'please, be careful with me,' will ever leave his eyes, no matter how long we've known each other, or how much stronger he's become in loving himself.

Chris hides it well, protects himself with humor, mischief and sarcasm, but inside, he's just a little fragile. I remember that now. It's a weird time to remember it, but I guess that's what happens when doing something vulnerable together. He's still taking care of me and while yes, we take care of each other, I have a special role and responsibility in our new family and it's time for me to take back the reigns; the ones we agreed long ago I take.

I'm close to releasing in his mouth and Jesus, it's oh so good, but Chris's phone alerting him that he has a text message kills it for me. What if it's Jake? I tap him on the shoulder. "C-C-Chris, s-ssssorry, but c'n you check that?"

His mouth pops off my cock. "Really, Dals?"

"Really."

I can tell he thinks I'm cute. He gets up and checks. "It's Jake," my heart starts beating hard and I lose my erection; fast. "He wants to go with Dean and Michael to church."

That actually irritates me. "Tell him _absolutely not_. Here, gimme that," I demand.

_No, Sur. You're coming with us, Jake. No complaints. Stay put; we leave in fifteen._ I send it and wait for a reply. It's a minute in coming, but I finally get, _I'm staying put, Dallas._ He knows it's me.

I toss the phone on the bed and Chris moves to finish what he started, but I stop him. The mood for that has past. Next he knows, his jeans are down and he's over my knee. "Hey! I give you an awesome cock suck, even if I didn't get to finish, and you spank me? How's that fair?" he complains, as I pull his SAXX down, so his bottom is bare for me.

"Who said anything about fair, Christian Winchester? I spank you when I feel you need it. End of story." And I do just that, because he does need it. I spank him 'till he's hollering and through the hollering. I spank him when he starts crying and through that too. I spank him until I know (from experience of being with him) that he's found the release he needs, but will seldom ask for. When I'm done spanking him and he's done crying over my lap, I tug him up and hug him to me, looking up at him.

"Thank you, Dals," he says, sniffling. "Needed that."

"I know. I needed it too." Spanking is our language. Sometimes we use it to speak to each other when words don't work, and to set ourselves right again; a reset. I smoosh my head into his pelvis, inhaling him; grateful for him. "All right, let's go collect our bratty boy and head to church."


	48. Church and Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warn you that there are bits in this chapter that are COMPLETELY unnecessary Mock Indulgence. *rolls around in the Jake + Chally things* but my head thinks of little things and I want to *see* them so I write them and I figure since it's written I'll share. So if you're confused about something that seems like it's not really part of the story, you're right -- it's just me goofin' off.

"Hey, aren't I a member of the cool group?" Jake says strolling up to Baby. Michael and I were about to get in and head to church.

"You need a ride?"

He thinks about it. "Naw, I'd better not. Dallas will freak."

"Text him or something. Tell him you're coming with us. Unless… you're not scared are you?" Yeah, I shouldn't be starting in with this sibling-type bullshit, but I'm going to. How long will I really have? Then he'll be a little tyke and I won't be able to tease him at all.

"Fine." He pulls out the phone in his pocket, which looks like it's Uncle Dal's phone and texts his new parents. We wait. He gets a response, which only serves to piss him off. "You're coming with us," Jake mocks. "Who do they think they are?" He sends a response back pretty quick though.

"Your parents. I guess we'll see you there."

Jake's giving me a strange look though, one I think means he's trying to decipher whether or not to tell me something, then he gives a brief once over to Michael. What's interesting is that Michael doesn't notice it, which makes me wonder if it's something I wouldn't normally notice without, well, without _Dean_. It's getting harder to figure out what's me and what's Old Dean. Sometimes it's obvious and sometimes, it's not.

It bothers me even while we're pulling away. "Did you notice anything different about Jake?"

"He's approximately five years younger, give or take two years, but this is only observed by the lines, or lack there of, in his face. This is a deceiving thing in humans since one can have many lines and be of a particular age and alternatively, less lines and be of a particular age."

"Not in anyway helpful Michael." Except for the part about not reading what I read. Fuck. I have to be crazy for a minute. _Is that… is that you, Dean? Noticing?_

**Well it's not you, dumbass.**

Dick.

It's when we're in church, I really realize how much Grampa owns this town. None of the non-family wedding guests talk about the event – the one with a demon showing up – I knew they wouldn't, but seeing it is another thing. Grampa'd already said he'd had it "taken care of" without too many details. I've always known he had friends in both low and high places, but looks like he's got them in the middle too.

Speaking of Grampa, he smiles at all of us proud. Jake did arrive with Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris and he's sitting in the middle of both, with Uncle Dal's watchful eyes on him, worried he'll modify at any minute.

The three of them look good together. Is that what Daddy, Papa and I look like?

Church is uneventful. Brad is here, but he's polite and surprisingly other than a hello, he stays away. It's a good thing too, Michael wants to tear him apart.

We do get some time after church to visit a bit and I notice Daddy's talking with Uncle Dal in a serious way. They're so into their conversation, and I'm into watching them for reasons I can't explain, I don't notice Jake's beside me, 'till he's there.

"Jesus, Jake. Someone needs to put a bell on you."

"Or a leash," Michael says pulling me closer to him. Michael's cool with Jake now – he has no choice but to be since he's family, but he's in a bad mood this morning, which I might have something to do with. Everyone is collateral.

Jake doesn't take offense. "I'm just happy to be a grown up for a few minutes."

Sure he is. "How'd you get away?"

"Chris. Dallas was busy with Sam, so I asked Chris," he says a little embarrassed at having to ask. He's got his hands in his pockets, the pockets of Michael's dress slacks. They look kinda nice on him.

"I'd better get my clothes back in the same condition they were given to you," grouchy Michael says.

"Cool yer jets. Yes I will. What am I going to do? We're inside a church for cryin' out loud."

I would make a snarky remark, one that would agree with Jake, but I refrain, unless I want to be spanked in church by Michael, who I know is one snarky remark away from doing so.

There's a lot more going on here that I'm noticing, like a whole world of noticing has opened up for me. I note the way Uncle Dal looks over at Jake now and then, but also at Uncle Chris. Papa's talking to Auntie Clarabelle, but he's got eyes on people too; like me, Daddy… and Michael? Huh. Didn't expect that, but I guess I should have – he probably wants to make sure Michael's not going to steal me away for sex or something. Yeah. As if that's happening anytime soon.

Papa eventually heads over. "Dean, we're all heading back now. What are your plans?" That's Papa's nice way of seeing if I have anything to ask him.

"We're heading back to the Winchester's," Michael says for us. Jesus.

"Okay. See you there. Jake, Christian wants you."

"Yes, sir." He's all manners in front of Papa, but when he leaves, "Everyone's so regimented. 'Cuz 'a the demon?"

"Yeah, they'll all cool off eventually," I say and yes I'm referring to Michael too.

"Doubt it," Michael says. "C'mon."

~**~

Michael and Dean are walking off and since I saw they were talking to Cas, I don't interrogate them. "I was coming," Jake says. "Castiel tol' me you were asking after me."

He sounds put out. "Yeah, Dals says we're leavin'. You okay? Why you so cranky?"

"Just irritated in general."

It's honest. "I know, you need some space and we're both suffocatin' yah. We'll back off soon. C'mon," I say putting an arm around him. I pull him over to where Dallas and Sam are, Cas has joined them. Dallas's whole body relaxes when I pull Jake over to us. We're supposed to be leaving, but then people end up coming up to us, congratulating us again. And not just on the wedding, word's spread about Jake (since he's the kind of news we want spread) and people are talking to him too. He looks, uncomfortable, but he's trying not to show it.

Dallas notices what I do and we have a wordless conversation. I move closer to Jake, just for support and I'm surprised as hell when he latches onto me; I put my arm around him. "Don't like crowds so much, Jakey?" I say to him quietly as I try to absorb his tension.

"Not so much."

Yeah, that's easy to figure out. Being a hunter, I'm sure being trapped in a dense crowd isn't the best advantage. Especially if you're expected to be polite.

Finally, Dallas is able to get us out of talking anymore and we break free to the parking lot, Sam and Cas close behind. I keep my arm around Jake, until Dallas puts an arm around him too. I remember him feeling suffocated. He looks, hurt.

"Thought we were smootherin' you, Cowboy?"

"Yeh are, but I didn’t say I minded."

"What about the irritating?"

Dallas laughs. "Jake's always irritated. It's his natural state of being. Ain't that right, baby boy?"

Jake just smiles. Huh. In that case, I put my arm back around him, all the way to the truck.

~**~

"Wait, where do you think you're going?" Jake tries to make a get away, but I stop him. "We've got some settling up to do."

"Dallas," he hisses. It's because everyone's around.

"Everyone here's comfortable enough with spankings. You don't have to worry about it."

"I don't care what they're used to."

I don't feel sorry for him and he at least gets that message. I put a hand to the back of his neck. "March."

Chris follows us.

"Are you two tag teaming me or something? Good cop, bad cop parenting?" Jake asks when we get into our room.

"Sorry, Jake. We're both the bad cop," Chris informs him crossing his arms.

"But, aren't you supposed to be like Sam and Cas – one brings the hammer down, the other bakes me muffins?"

"First, that's Uncle Sam and Uncle Cas to you, Sur," I tell him. He really should start getting used to stuff like that.

"And second," Chris says. "We're different than they are. Maybe the same some ways, but also different."

"I'm gatherin' that. So how much trouble am I in?"

Chris and I may be a team and somewhat different than Sam and Cas, but I still lead the pack. So I lead. "First, we talk. Jake, you worried all of us you know? The whole family. Do you have any idea how much the world was turned upside down lookin' for you?"

"I didn't. I really didn't and I’m sorry. You know I'm sorry, right? I don't regret what I did though. Not if it saved you."

I nod. "I can understand that baby boy, but you had responsibility to more than just me – that was a family decision you took upon yourself. We've proven trustworthy I think, we helped you before, didn't we?"

"Yeah and all it did was involve you in somethin' you should never have been involved in."

"Not your decision, Jake. You should have told us, so we could have involved Jared, Jensen and however else we needed to. You had a broken foot for cryin' out loud." I don't mean to raise my voice, but it happens; just my emotions running away. I'm a calm and collected individual, most often, but thinking about Jake, broken foot, facing Demons, shooting up with Modlenol? Makes me crazy.

Jake winces. "That wasn't you—"

"—if you say it wasn't our concern, so help me, you won't be sitting for a week."

Jake zips it. He knows when to. Sometimes.

"We both made it perfectly clear you were and are, our concern. Perhaps whether you wanted us to be or not, but considerin' the most recent events and even before that, I'd like to believe it wasn't a one way street?"

"No, sir. I… it wasn't a one way street."

I nod. "You were well aware of where you stood with us and you took off anyway. Planned it. Left no word or trace." Man. It's hard to get through all of this without breaking. How have Cas and Sam done it with Dean all these years? The worry, the 'what if this happeneds', rise up in me and almost choke me up.

"Yeah. It was shitty, okay? But I know, look, I haven't had to worry about family in awhile and I fucked up."

"Now ain't the best time to use language like that, Jake," Chris helps him.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm messing this up. A lot. I get it now though. Taking off like that – I'm surprised Dean hasn't punched me yet. I deserve what I have comin'."

Well it's hard to punish him when he agrees. I just wanna say, 'okay, good talk' and hope he won't do something like this again. I'm gonna be wrapped around his finger, aren't I? I have a 'What Would Cas Do' moment, and I know I need to make sure the lesson sticks. With kinds like Jake, he needs the physical reminder. "C'mere," I say, crooking my finger at him. "We'll settle up with a spanking, which will involve my not-so-nice hairbrush for a good few seconds. Then we'll call this whole situation over."

I pull a chair out for this. It's important for it to be a bit more formal. I roll up my sleeves, still wearing my long-sleeved shirt from church. I put my serious face on and pull him close. Chris stays. This is between the three of us, so it'll be settled between the three of us. I'm sure there will be some instances where I'll be dealing with Jake on my own, but this one seemed important we deal with him together, even if I'm doing the spanking.

"You wanna add anythin' Chris?"

"Naw, you were thorough as always," Chris says, winking at me. "Good luck, Jakey. I don't envy you Dals's hairbrush. It sucks."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" Jake's full on pouting and it's kinda cute.

"Not really. You deserve this Jake. You're not getting sympathy from me on this one."

Jake sighs. "Yeah."

I start unbuttoning his slacks, the ones Michael loaned him and I slip them right off – he'll likely need to change after this anyway. Jake suddenly looks so young to me, he always has to some extent; I've always seen that bit of him that longs for nurturing and guidance, but it's far more prominent now. "I'm going to spank you, that's all. Nothing more," I feel it prudent to say. It's not the first time I've spanked Jake, but he seems a little nervous; as if it were the first time.

He nods and I take that as a thank you; my instincts are good. I flip him over my knee and I start over his new pair of SAXX. His legs are long enough, his feet can touch the ground and his hands too, but I'm tall enough, I'm able to make it so he's just a little off balance. It's good for a spankee to feel that way; it helps with the lesson, especially if I make it hurt enough, which I intend to.

He's just like Chris, in that he's dramatic. I'm not laying into him hard yet, he knows it too, but he fidgets and squirms and kicks up a fuss. "Jake," I warn. I don't mind what he needs do when I kick up the intensity, but I won't tolerate theatrics.

"Well this ain't fun."

"Wasn't fun worrying over you every night either."

He calms down after that letting me spank him without much fuss. When I think he's warmed up enough, I pull down his boxers, letting his toes touch the ground so he can lift his hips for me. "You mind grabbing me my hairbrush, darlin'?" Chris hates that thing. I'm sure he's glad it's not being used on him at the moment.

"Yes, sir." He winks.

 _Suck up._ I smile at him, over Jake 'cuz he's cute. While Chris moves to grab the brush from my suitcase, I lay in with sharp, heavy swats and it's not long before Jake really can't help his yelping and kicking and pleading. "Okay, I got it, ow! Dal-Dallas-ouch!"

I keep going, wanting to get to a certain point before I start in with my brush. A spanking _should_ hurt. It's meant to. It should hurt for a bit. I continue with smacks and he continues with his negotiating. "Please Dallas, I'll be good, I'll be so good forever."

"I'm glad to hear it. That's a good idea."

Also like Chris, he has to put his hand back to block my further swatting. I smile at how alike my two boys are, as I grab his wrist and pin it to his back. "Brush," I say to Chris and he hands it to me. I give Jake a little break. "I'm gonna finish up with this; it's going to hurt, but I promise you'll live." Being spanked myself, you always feel for a short moment, especially at the end, you might die of being spanked. Of course it's not true, it's just your brain wanting it to be over, but the feeling's there none-the-less.

"C-Can you let go my wrist, Dallas?"

"Do you think you can keep from blocking your butt? I don't want to hit it with the brush accidently."

"No," he says.

I tap his already sore bottom with my brush. "Excuse me?"

"No, sir."

"Thank you. I gotta hold your wrist then cowboy."

He nods. "Ready?" Another nod.

He can't hold still as I cover every inch of his tender skin with my thick wooden hairbrush, but he can complain. "That thing is—ow! Nasty!"

I give him a good forty-five seconds of some very not-nice smacks with the hairbrush. Jake can actually take a spanking really well, despite all his histrionics, he just _has_ to complain. And complain he does. "Ow! Jesus, that _freaking_ , I'm burning that—ow!"

When I'm done, I rub his bottom for him quickly, stand him up then pull up his boxer shorts for him. He's not crying, but he's pouting, hard. It's difficult, but I remain stern like Cas would. "Take off like that again and that's what you can have every night for a week. Go see, Papa." I tap his sore bottom in the direction of Chris. Of course I want my turn snuggling him, but after a spanking like that, your spanker is not always the first person you want to cuddle. _Sometimes_ it's the _very_ first person, the _only_ person you want to cuddle, but I sense Jake needs just a short break from me after my hairbrush.

Chris accepts him with open arms. "C'mere buck-a-roo."

"That was awful," he says falling into Chris's arms.

"I know the sting of that brush. It ain't nice."

Lordy be. I've got two of them now. I let Chris console him as I put the room back to rights and change into some jeans and a t-shirt for cleaning up the yard. I sneak peeks at the two of them, loving the picture they make. Chris is on the bed, sitting sideways and Jake's right next to him, curled into his torso, head on his shoulder. I smile, buttoning up the blue-checkered, short-sleeved shirt, I've put on, topping off with my favorite black hat.

"You forgive me for spanking you yet, Jakey?" I tease, hoping I get my turn now. I do. He's up and slamming into me. That's when the tears start. I wrap him tight in my arms. "Hey, hey now. We're all square. It's over now."

"I'm sorry, Dally."

Jake's never called me Dally. It's usually Dallas. He's used Daddy, sure, but only in jest and perhaps half-serious, but not really _for real_. Dally comes close; tells me what he wants. _Maybe he needs another invitation._ "I know you are." I hold him and let him cry into my fresh shirt. "You're one hundred and twenty percent forgiven."

"I know, Dallas. I just wanted to say it again. I won't… Look, it's nice having a family again; I didn't think I'd get this. I don't want to screw it up."

Well I'll be. That spanking was enough to open the kid up. Makes him more vulnerable. "You can't screw anything up, kid. We love you so much."

I make sure to sway him as I hold him and soothe him by running fingers through his hair. Chris is ready with a warm cloth when he stops crying. I wipe Jake's face. He's smiling. "Here, take these," Chris says handing him jeans. "They're an old pair of mine – Dallas's have too many holes – they might be a tad big, but they'll fit in a way that's nice for your ass right now."

"Hey, too many holes?" I say and move to give Chris a playful swat, which he dodges.

"You can wear all the holes you want, Baby. But Jake here needs to dress nicely."

"That so?" I say. "I thought I was the one makin' the rules around here?"

Jake watches us carefully, taking in the behaviors of his strange new parents. He slides the jeans on and they're sufficiently baggy. They're the softer kind of jeans (Chris tends to buy the fancy, pre-worn-in jeans) and they hang loosely around his bum. He's also got the soft cotton of the SAXX to protect his skin.

"You make most of the rules, but I'm makin' this one. Minimal holes for you Jake Travis. You're a Winchester now and will dress as such."

"Yes, sir," Jake says, in a mood to behave. "That gonna be my middle name now? Travis?"

"If you want it to be. We can add to it if you want." We haven't submitted the Moddler Adoption Forms yet. Still time to change it.

"I think y'all should pick," he says doing up his jeans. "Ain't that somethin' a parent gets to do?"

I look to Chris. "I wouldn't mind somethin' from us, Dals, but yeah, I think you should keep the Travis. If anythin', I'm used to scoldin' you that way," he teases.

"Well I am one of the few Colts with two middle names. That could work. Jake Travis, Something, Winchester. Well I won't curse you with any of my names, Jake," I tell him.

"Dallas isn't so bad," he says.

"I agree," Chris says. "It's a great name."

"Yeah, but I dunno. It just doesn't sound right with the rest of it. And you're already named for your first father; I don’t wanna mess with that." Would feel wrong.

"How about one of our middle names?" Chris says.

"Ethan, Issac?" Even Jake wrinkles his nose at those, but he's polite in case we pick one, and 'cause they're mine. I laugh. "Like I said, I won't curse you with my names. But, what about yours Chris? I know Clarence has it too, but Aaron would sound so nice with his other names." The sound is important; I am a musician.

"Yeah. I like it. Jake Travis Aaron Winchester. Does sound nice."

"Okay, it's decided then." I realize Jake has no shirt and pull one out of Chris's drawers. "There you go kid."

He removes the one he wore for church – Michael's shirt – and replaces it with the blue, cotton t-shirt. "Are you done with me now?"

In other words, can he go? "Almost. There's one more thing I want to talk with you about." He looks concerned. "No need to worry, you're not in trouble for anything, _more_ , but I have been talking with Sam about some things." I chatted with him just after church, while everyone milled about and visited. "You really shouldn't be calling us Dallas and Chris anymore." Kinds like Jake and Chris work in strange and mysterious ways. Sometimes it's better when they're just not allowed. I can tell it's something Jake wants, he's just feeling shy about it and I _should_ make it a rule. "I'm not gonna enforce it just yet, but I will when you get a bit younger. So maybe, start working on it?"

"I will," he promises. "C'n I go find Dean now? He promised to entertain me."

Sam also said to keep a fairly close eye on him, in case he modifies, but yeah, I'd better give him some leeway. He took that spanking well and I don't want him to feel further punished. "Yeah, but I want you helpin' some with the clean up, so take a break and come find us, also take this," I say giving him my cellphone again.

"And this," Chris says, popping the Chesney hat on his head. "It's a scorcher. Wouldn't want you gettin' sunstroke."

Jake scampers off. "What we gonna do, Dals?" Chris says and I know exactly what that means since he knows we really should get out to help. Colts will be arriving soon. They went home to change, same as us.

But. We have a little time.

I only just got redressed, 'cept I don't mind undressing for this. I had wanted this to be a slow sensual thing, but we're learning we don't have that luxury anymore – even if Jake's not little yet. Anything could happen at anytime. So we strip like maniacs, collide our already sweating, naked bodies, and try to inhale each other.

Pounding into him's never felt so good. "I want you forever, Chris," I tell him between kisses.

"I am yours forever. And you're mine, Dals."

I'm over top of him, staring into his Winchester-blues. "Sure am, Cowboy."


	49. Baby's "Secret" Compartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh so I was wrong. I don't have 3 chapters, there are 4. This one is a short chapter. Next one coming soon. ;)

Soon as we're back at Winchester Headquarters, I plan on running up to change out of my constricting church clothes, but we dilly-dallied in the Impala too long (apparently Michael's not opposed to a little kissing), so when we walk up to the house, Daddy's there and he stops us. "You two, change and have a quick break. Then you're helping. Colts'll be here soon. Michael, I have a special cleaning job for you." He must still be worried about Michael if he's still going on about special jobs. Michael and I split up, since we'll never be fast if we change together. Which is not technically allowed anyway. Technically as in, not at all, but it's been known to happen. And I know we'd both like to continue our kissing marathon.

By the time I'm back downstairs, I spot Michael outside with Grampa. He's leaned up against the fence, drinking a beer; Grampa is too. Huh. Such an unlikely friendship, or I guess maybe most likely – they do have a lot in common. I just, always thought Grampa would take a stance like Papa of extreme over-protectiveness, but instead, he's befriended Michael. It's like, I'm his favorite person, so Michael becomes favorite person of his favorite person by proxy. I like it.

And it's good for Michael.

He looks comfortable. I love Michael any which way he is – grouchy fucker, in-state-of-perpetual-annoyance, smirk-y, asshole-y – _any way_ , but for his sake, I like him being this Michael. Happy, content, carefree. He's got a real smile on his face. Sure, it's only a quarter of a smile, but it's genuine and Grampa's shining at him, his eyes crinkled because of the sun, and because he's enjoying Michael too. It's a good scene. I take a mental photo and leave them to go grab a bite to eat before everyone gets here, only to bump into Jake who seems to be like a shadow today – always there underfoot.

He grabs my shirt by the collar and yanks me into the closest empty room. "What the hell dude?"

Something about the way I say that doesn't feel like it's just me saying it.

"I _have_ to talk to you without that damn angel nearby," he says. "Look, we have to go out to my car and we have to do this before I lose the rest of my Goddamn memory."

He shoves at me to make his point. I glare at him for roughing me up but then I see it in his eyes; it's something fucking important. "Okay Jake, but I figured your hunting days were over. Especially after the discussion you likely just had with your parents." Yeah, I'm assuming 'out to his car' has something to do with hunting, since by his humorless expression I don't think he wants to show me his hot ride kinda thing.

"They are over. I'm out. I'm doing this one last thing, for my daddy – my biological one – and I'm done. Could call this passing the torch, but I'm not sure that really fits in this case."

I'm suspicious. It's sounding like he wants _me,_ or rather Old Dean to do something hunting-wise, and Old Dean and Me Dean isn't turning out to be that much different.

 **Checking it out, isn't hunting,** Old Dean says.

_I guess not, but—_

**—but nothing. Just do it.**

He's really annoying me. "Yeah, okay Jake. Let's just, check it out."

~**~

We head out to his car and he looks around making sure we're alone. Huh. The 'chat' with Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris did have effect on him. "They're not here."

"You didn't just have a fucking, _wooden_ hairbrush taken to your bare ass."

"Oh, but I have plenty of times," I tell him. "C'mon, show me."

"Show you?" he says sounding scandalized.

"Yeah. It's a thing – it'll make you feel a million times better."

"We don't exactly have a whole bunch of time."

"Um, probably TMI, but Jake? Your new parents have been looking after you twenty-four seven and now they're blessed with some alone time? Trust me, we got time enough."

"Ew! That's, I don't need to know that shit."

"Well just… knock okay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"So much to teach you my young _padawan_. Now drop your pants."

He's not enthusiastic, but he does. "Holy Toledo! There's already a couple 'a nice purple spots. It's a fantastic red color."

"Y'think?" he says looking back, trying to see.

"You didn't check it out?"

"No."

"Spanking rule number one: You _always_ gotta check – that's half the fun of a spanking."

"I wouldn't say this was 'fun'."

"Well maybe not the actual spanking, but everything else to do with it."

"You're weird Winchester."

I just smile at him. "All right, show me what you gotta show me."

He opens the trunk. It looks like an ordinary trunk, until he pops a secret latch and opens another compartment and leapin' lizards! There's everything. Firearms galore, machetes, various types of blades, everything, I'm assuming, a hunter could need. There's also a pile of books. This is awesome, but, "What am I supposed to do with all this?"

Jake shrugs. "Look? I don't fucking know and it's driving me insane. I was hoping _Dean_ would know."

Modlenol's a funny thing, you forget a lot of what you would have picked up at the age you left, Daddy explained, but some things get left over, like when you pour all the cake batter out of bowl and into the pan; most of it's in the pan now, but there's remnants left over that are either scraped away later, or that never leave. Going by that, I'm assuming whatever it is Jake needs Old Dean to find, is something from time he's lost. That only leads to another question, though. How does Old Dean remember anything? Shouldn't he be gone? How's he even around?

"Didn't you leave _you_ a note in your dumb letter?" I'd love to read that fucking letter. Everyone would.

"I did, but fuck, I wasn't detailed. I left what I thought would be enough info to figure the rest out, since clearly, it's stuff no one else should see. The letter said: 'show trunk to Old Dean'."

"Ha! You used our name for him?"

"Well… so what?"

It's cute I don't say. He really did become one of us quickly. "Nevermind. Okay, damn, maybe whatever it is, is better left a secret. I made promises to my parents too y'know? I really am done hunting and I have a bad feeling this'll… well it's just a bad idea."

Hunting. It's something that's loomed and interrupted both my lives. I used to think it would be cool to be a super hero and I… well there's been many times I've thought about it, an unexplainable craving for it I didn't understand until now (Old Dean hanging out in the background); so many times I've wanted to hunt with my uncles. But now? I crave different things. I want, something just like this: Warm coffee morning conversations, catching fireflies with the Colt cousins in Summer, farmer's markets, church Christmas plays, Halloween kisses, furry friends, the love of my life by my side in any way I can have him and so many other things that make family.

I don't want to be a hunter anymore. "Not for you doofus, for your uncles. I figured we could give whatever it is to them and they could take care of it – I wanna be done with this whole thing."

"They're your uncles too now, y'know?"

"I guess so," he says realizing that only now.

"Okay, well yeah, in that case." _You're up Dean,_ I tell him. He was so interested in me doing this, I hope that means he'll respond.

Even still, I'm shocked when he does. I get a picture in my mind of a gruff, hair-speckled face, green eyes alight with excitement, hands rubbing together and _I_ remember something. _I loved this. Fucking loved this._

With Dean's eyes, I look and sift through everything in Jake's trunk, moving aside all kinds of funky looking trinkets and weapons. But it's the books that _Dean_ seems to be honing in on. I pick up each book. "What's this?" I ask him handing it to Jake.

"Was my daddy's hunting journal."

Dean's interested in that. Real interested. He starts, or I guess, I start, flipping through the pages. "No, no this ain't it," Old Dean says out loud through me.

"How do you know?" Jake asks.

"Somethin's… no. Not the right one." He tosses the book back. "It's not here."

_What's not here?_

**Gimmie a bit. I'm tryin' to remember.**

Huh. Old Dean _'doesn't remember'_ … too.

"Well?" Jake asks confused.

"He's trying to remember. What's so important about this thing anyway?"

"I don't fucking know, Dean," he says slamming the trunk shut. "But I know it's not a lost set of car keys; it's world destroying."

"Great." That's all I say though, because Jake really does look worried. I wonder if it bothered me that much not to remember?

**Got somethin'. Go to Baby's trunk.**

_Why?_

**Just fuckin' do it.**

"Fuck, fine," I say out loud by mistake.

"Huh?" Jake's looking at me funny.

"Never mind. Come with me."

~**~

I open the fucking trunk of the Impala for Old Dean. It's just as I left it. Some old hockey gear from last year, which is probably too small now – I should really take out of here – a math textbook I forgot to return at the end of school and some other various pieces of crap. I pick up on Old Dean's disgust over how I've used _his_ car.

_What now?_

**Open her up.**

Oh. That. _Can't. Locked._

**What do you mean locked?**

As the story goes, my Old Dean counterpart made a deal with my uncles. He asked them to keep the _secret compartment_ a secret. Understanding it was important, they agreed. I had forgotten about the compartment, until Uncle Bobby decided to give me a sawed-off filled with salt slugs.

He told me to put it with my gear in the back trunk of the Impala.

As much as Bobby thought me having a second life was an awesome thing, and supported it, he had a hard time with some of it – keeping track of what I knew and didn't know; he blamed old age even though I always suspected he was and still is sharp as a tack.

I deduced the real reason he let things like that slip was, he felt uneasy about me being without any protection; though he's never come out and said it. Sure my parents have the means to protect me (money, resources, my hunting uncles, _Michael_ ) but I picked up on that he would have liked them to shield me a little less, prepare me a little more. He let things out from time to time that I would become curious over. He gave me things to keep secret and so he let it slip about the secret compartment.

Uncle Jensen and Jared still had Baby; I confronted them about the compartment. They wouldn't show it to me, but they did add the various pieces I got from Bobby over the years, which went directly through them – the inventory became a list they updated me on now and again, most of it, I didn't understand and would just nod and say, "great."

When they brought Baby back on my sixteenth birthday, they said I wouldn't be able to open it. They'd done something to it. Of course I looked and I tried. I knew some of the stuff that was in there, but other than the shot gun, I'ver never seen it. Not in this life and to be honest, I just forgot about it. Didn't think about it too much. I can't get into it anyway (without damaging Baby, or taking her apart—which my parents would surely notice) and I didn't need to. Until now.

**You could have told me it was locked before we wasted our time.**

Huh, so Old Dean doesn't know everything about _this_ life either. _Maybe if you'd told me why._ It feels good to get one in on him.

Old Dean uses my hand, our hand, to feel around the carpeted interior. **Son of a Bitch. It's warded. Can't even get my hand under the carpet.**

I shrug toward Jake. "Warded. Can you remember anything about that?"

Jake nods and waggles his eyes. "No problem – thank fuck. I know how to undo all kinds of wards."

Good. Of course, it makes a ton more sense to get my uncles to open the trunk, especially if whatever's in there, I'm going to give to them anyway, but for some reason, I want to open it without them. I slam the trunk shut.

"Dean really thinks it's in there, huh?"

I nod. "Yeah he—"

I don't get to finish my sentence. Jake doubles over. Then falls to the ground. His eyes roll back in his head. He's having a seizure. "Jake. _Jake!_ " I know it's the Modlenol. Fuck. Unfortunately, his ass is still too big for me to carry inside on my own, but I am able to turn him on his side in case he vomits. It's the longest sixty seconds of my life. I'm calling for help the whole time, but that's how long it takes for someone to hear me and get out to us.

He seems to have stopped seizing by the time Daddy gets out to us, Uncle Dallas is next, followed by Uncle Chris. By this point, Jake's screaming. "Quick. Get him inside," Daddy says already grabbing under his armpits. Dallas picks up his legs and into the house they run.


	50. Up to Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the worst person. I didn't mean to leave the cliffhanger for so long, but I kept ADDING to this chapter! 
> 
> I have one more written after this, but it's not typed out yet. Someone said how fun would it be if Uncle Chris spanked both Dean and Jake? I thought, really damn fun, so you'll see that next chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one.

"Get him on the bed, take his clothes off," I tell Dally. I'm having flashbacks of this happening to Dean.

"Daddy, can I help?" he asks.

"Yeah Dean Bean. Ask Gramma for a washcloth and a basin of cool water."

When Jake's on the bed, I start removing his t-shirt, as Dal does his jeans and boxers. He's burning up, just like Dean did, which is good in a way – least I know what to do about it.

When Dean arrives with the cloth and water, I hand it over to Dal, knowing he'll be like me and want to do it like I did for Dean. He gets to work and I pull a chair over. "Chris, sit there and grab his hand. Talk to him."

He does. "C-can he hear me?" Chris asks looking at Jake.

"He can hear you. He won't remember, but he can hear. You want us to stay, or go?"

Dal grabs my wrist. "Stay."

I text Cas, to let him know what's going on; Dean and I stay and watch as Dal washes Jake down with the cool water as Jake shakes and screams and Chris coos at him, holding his hand. "It'll be all right, Jakey. We got you."

Eventually, Jake passes out, but not before there are tears running down both Chris and Dally's eyes. Dallas covers him with a thin blanket. "I hate that he went through this on his own," Dallas says, thinking about his first change prior to the twins finding him.

I can relate one hundred percent. Dean went through this at least once on his own. "Don't worry honey, he won't remember at thing. Promise."

"Yeah Uncle Dal. I don't remember any of this."

We both know it won't magically erase their pain, but it helps some. I sit on the bed near Jake's feet, realizing Dallas wants me here for the long-haul, which I don't mind at all. Dean sits on the floor by Chris's feet. It's a long afternoon, but we pass the time by talking, more reminiscing like we were doing this morning. Cas sends me a text assuring me that he and Michael took care of what I was supposed to and their jobs; not to worry about at thing other than Dal, Chris and Jake. We do, distracting them both until it's dinnertime. Dean goes over what they were doing out by the Impala before it happened, and we laugh at the thought of Jake showing Dean his red bottom.

"Chris, you go have dinner. I'll stay with him."

"Well, could we at least trade off, Dals? You need to eat too."

I know, because I know my brother, he's not going to budge on that one, so I step in. "He'll be fine with Chris. You need to eat too Dallas Colt."

"Fine," Dal says without the consideration he usually has. I outrank him and he knows it. Plus, I'll tell Cas on him. Worst case, Grampa Winchester will get involved.

"Good. I'll send Chris up when he's done."

~Dallas~

It's the longest night of my life and my assessment of this fact includes when Jake was gone. It's hard to tell if Jake is conscious or not. I think he's somewhere in between, but I can't tell. In any case, he's in no condition to leave the bed even for peeing. He wets the bed before we decide to resort to an adult diaper. I don't know what he'll flip over more – the diaper or wetting the bed. Chris and I switch off looking after him, even carrying him to the bathroom to slip him into a cool tub to bring his temperature down, via Sam's suggestion when he really heats up.

This is how things go for a day and a half. Thirty-six hours of Hell. It's the middle of the night, when Jake's finally breathing right. He stopped screaming a few hours ago and I'm hesitant to say it, but I think the worst has past. _For now._ I'm not naïve enough to think this is the final change. I'm on one side of him and Chris on the other. The changes happen slow and fast at the same time. You don't quite notice them happening, until it's over and then you see a whole bunch has changed. Jake is younger. All the gruff lines are gone from his face and the shadows under his eyes are reduced tenfold. I can't see him so good now, it's dark, but I've been staring at him for hours; I've memorized every inch of him.

"You still awake, Dals?" Chris whispers.

"Yeah." He knows I haven't slept at all. He's worrying about me, again.

"I wish you'd get some sleep, Baby."

"I will." When Jake's forty.

Jake stirs and we both hold our breath. He opens his eyes. "Dad—Dallas? Chris?"

I nod. "How you feelin', baby?"

"Still too old to be called, baby that's for sure. What happened?"

"You changed again. Do you remember?" I know everyone's said he won't remember, but he seemed like he was awake at times.

"Nope. Not a damn thing. I'm hungry though – got anything to eat?"

"Jake."

"What?"

His voice even sounds just a little younger. "No cursing, Sur."

"Oh c'mon. Damn? That's not a curse word."

"It's a curse word if I say it is and I don't wanna hear it coming out of your mouth." He's just woke up from a painful coma sort of deal, and already he's being scolded. Somehow that makes me feel better.

"Jeez. Okay. So? How about that food?"

"Stay here with Papa, I'll go get you something." I do what Sam told me to do, referring to ourselves as parental monikers. He said it will help Jake feel more comfortable to do it too.

"Aye, aye Captain."

I fix him something light from the Winchester's fridge, and make sure to bring him juice, since he'll like that. When I get back, the light's on and Jake's freaking out. "What the _hell_ is this? Get it off me!"

"Shhh. Calm down," Chris is saying, trying to help him out, but he's hysterical. "I'm gettin' it off. No use screamin' like a banshee."

Chris rips the diaper off, which is thankfully dry and points Jake to the direction of his underwear drawer for another box of SAXX, as he takes it to the bathroom to dispose of it. Jake storms over to Chris's chest of drawers, and thrusts the drawer open. I set the tray down beside the bed, so I can deal with Jake who's throwing a fit. I go with a softer approach this time. Soft, but stern.

"I'll take those," I say tugging the box of underwear out of his hand. He's in nothing but a t-shirt now and he looks skinny. He's muscled, but he's the long and lean kind of muscled, so his long lean muscles are just getting increasingly long and lean. He's still glaring at me, but he lets me take the underwear and watches what I do with them, which is take them out of the box and help him put them on. "Step in."

Still a bit weak from the modification, he has to use me for balance as he steps into them. I pull them up then send him immediately back to bed with a pat to his rear. "Go lay back down, please."

None too happy with me, he does. Whereas before he would have been shy, this time, there's hardly any apprehension at all; he crawls over, back to where he was and lets Chris in with him actually initiating the snuggling this time. _That didn't take long._

I close the drawer and keep the light on, so he can eat. Chris is still sitting up enough that I can hand Jake a sandwich-half and he's able to eat in a way that won't make him choke. He's getting crumbs all over Chris and the bed, but I don't say anything about it, he needs the comfort and the food and I'm enjoying watching the two of them.

Jake's hunger wanes after half a sandwich and some juice. I make them both get up and dust away the crumbs before we tuck in for bed again. Jake's already yawning. He surprises me when he latches onto me this time, as he climbs back in and I kiss his head hugging him close, glad the three of us can take a breath and rest from this storm.

~Tuesday~

I think… I think Jake's my age now and it's fucking weird. I mean, in some ways, he's not that much different from before. But in other ways, he's really fucking different. For instance, he's still a sarcastic asshole, but he's far less gruff, like the jaded hunter's slowly leaving him.

Uncle Dal's more watchful over him than ever, worried he'll modify at any moment, even though Daddy assured him it's at least another two or three days. All of this is changing Uncle Dal too. He's still fun-loving-sunshine-rays-Uncle-Dal, but he's just an edge harder, being who Jake needs him to be. Maybe a bit less care-free, but Daddy assured me that's just what happens when you have kids, when I asked him about it. I'm not too concerned.

And I think it's funny to watch Jake do things he's used to doing then getting reminded he's not twenty-five anymore. Like when he grabbed himself a beer out of the fridge – the look he got from Uncle Dal was priceless. I guess that's part of the thing Daddy talked about – about losing a lot of some things, but keeping others. Like… like an echo.

As much as I love watching their interactions, I hope that some of the stuff Jake's got left is one of those unwarding-unlocking-whatever-the-fuck rituals in his head. I began not caring about whatever it was Jake needed me to find, but now I'm getting anxious for it in a way that I suspect is Old Dean being anxious. If Jake can't do it, I just might have to ask my uncles after all. They're still home, visiting, but that has an expiry date; I'm sure they're itching to get back on the road, so I'm itching to get into that trunk.

"Hey, Uncle Dal, can I take Jake to the diner for a burger?" Thankfully, Michael's off with both Grampa _and_ Papa; conveniently out of my way for this. I'm supposed to ask Michael if I want to leave the premises, apparently, but Uncle Dal's always been defacto for my parents; I assume the same goes for Michael since he's not here.

The furrowed frown I get is not promising, nor is the way Uncle Dal moves closer to Jake and pretends his hair needs fixing, even though it's clear Uncle Dal just needs to touch him, make sure he's real and perhaps prevent me from abducting him or something. He puts his arms around Jake from behind. "How about I make you burgers here half pint?" He's biting his lip.

That's a good answer. I know that answer. He feels like he should say yes, so he's finding a way to not say no. I can work with that. "But we're leaving in less than a week Uncle Dal, and it's gonna be busy. It'd be fun for us to get in a last visit to that place while there's time."

He's breaking, but it's still not enough. I nudge Jake under that table, gentle as I can to get his attention without getting Uncle Dal's. I need his help. "Yeah. That'd be fun. I'm gettin' cabin fever," Jake complains.

Uncle Dal takes a deep breath and he's a long moment considering, but he relents. "Okay. Fine. But straight there and straight back. Take my cellphone," he says, pulling it out of his pocket. "I want to hear from you every hour, Sur."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Jake."

"Yes, Daddy," he says sweetly. Uncle Dal can't help smiling at him. He's in so much trouble.

I grab his hand and tug him away before anyone comes in (like Michael or Papa) who will immediately suspect me. I feel a little bad pulling the wool over Uncle Dal's eyes like this, but it has to be done; it's for a good cause. I think.

When we're in the Impala, driving away, Jake turns to me. "What's the deal, Winchester?"

"The trunk, _Winchester_ ," I tease him. He's a Winchester too now.

"Fuck. Oh yeah."

"You remember?"

"Yeah. I seem to remember the things that happened, 'now', it's hard to explain, but yeah, I remember what we were doing before I modified. I did forget a second, but I remembered as soon as you reminded me."

"Do you think you'll remember how to open the trunk?"

He winces. "I'm not so sure. I think might lose things like that faster – things I learned before a certain time. My daddy didn't teach me much about that 'till later in my life. I mean, there were always little things all my life, but he didn't want me to be a hunter Dean, it just happened. He tried to keep me out of the life."

Fuck. "Well, we'll see what we can do." Maybe between him and Old Dean, we can make something work.

I pull over at an inconspicuous location a little ways off from the diner. We can go there after, I really would like a burger. I pop the trunk and we stare at it – the three of us, Jake, Old Dean, Me. "Okay, what now?"

"Well sometimes, you need stuff to break wards."

"Like an axe?"

"Like old squirrel bones and vampire teeth."

"Great. We don't have any of that."

"No," he shrugs.

"Don't you care?" I feel like I care a helluva lot more than he does right now.

"I do, but it doesn't feel as urgent as it did."

And maybe it's not. Should I just let this go?

But just when I'm about to give up, "Some wards are simpler though."

"What's that mean?"

"I… can't remember. Ugh! This is fucking frustrating," he says pulling at his hair. "I don't even really know it's gone, that's the weird part. Not until you ask me things like this."

Curious.

 **Fuck, of course. Look for symbols on the inside of the trunk,** Old Dean says, like he just remembered himself.

I inspect everywhere and so does Jake, looking for anything drawn on anywhere.

 **Assholes used simple warding,** Dean says when we find them.

_Can you blame them? It's all they needed for me._

Old Dean pouts inside my head. We find several symbols scattered throughout the walls of the trunk. Now that we're looking, I see them clear as day. They're not easy to spot though, drawn in blood and in the places where the light never reaches. There are five total. "What now?"

"I think all you gotta do is scratch'em?" Jakes says, not really sure.

"Like, anywhere?"

 **Yeah, dumbass,** Old Dean says.

If could punch that guy in the throat. _You didn't know either._ Yeah, I might not have hunter knowledge, but I'm not stupid – I have a 4.0 grade point average. Old Dean is quiet. Give me some hunter knowledge though and I'm sure I could kick ass with it.

I pull a quarter out of my wallet and begin scratching until all the symbols have a place where they break. This time, when I pull, I run my finger along the seam of the carpet. I find a latch. I pull it; it clicks open revealing the compartment slowly like I'm opening a door to another world – _another time._ Seeing everything, all the stuff at once, I'm hit with the biggest feeling of déjà vu ever.

Inside are things like what I saw in Jake's trunk. I see the shotgun Bobby gave me, among other weapons. It feels like I recognize everything, yet I don't at all.

I don't even have to dig for it. I know as soon as I set eyes on it, it's what we're looking for. There might as well be light shining on it.

 **That's not supposed to fucking be there. How the fuck?** Old Dean says. I don't think he meant to say it.

_You don't know how that got here?_

**…no.**

_Why'd you want me to check here if this wasn't supposed to be here?_

**A hunch.**

_What the Hell is going on?_

**I… I really don't know. We might be in big fucking trouble.**

My whole body shivers. I don't like the feeling I get. But I get the feeling, I shouldn't tell Jake. I pretend to look earnestly for it and when I tell Jake, "I don't see anything of importance here," I don't know why I'm saying it. And there's not just one thing, but two things of interest in here. _Dean's_ interested in two things.

Jake shrugs. "Any ideas from…" he nocks his head, indicating Old Dean.

It's not surprising, that it's Old Dean shaking my head. We're in this together. Alone.

"Well I don't know where else to look, Dean. The letter doesn't have much on this, but it was clear only _you_ would know what to look for. Fuck."

"S'okay, Jakey. You'd better text Dallas and let him know you're still alive. Let's go get that burger."

~**~

When we arrive back, Michael's there and he's pissed. "I don't recall giving my permission for you to go anywhere."

Jake fucks off. "I'd better go see Dal. Good luck Dean."

Douche.

"I had Uncle Dal's permission."

"Good for you. You also need mine. And you didn't have it."

"You weren't here."

"I have a cellphone."

"I'm sorry."

"Not good enough, come with me," he says grabbing my hand, but stops when he sees it's wrapped. "What's this?"

"Cut myself. It was an accident." Both Jake and I decided re-warding the Impala was a good idea. We needed blood for that and there was no way it could be Jake with how much everyone's worried about him.

"I don't believe you. You're lying."

 **Whatever you fucking do, don't tell him. He can't know. It will put him in danger,** Old Dean reminds me. He's already been over this with me.

I don’t know what Old Dean's on about, he won't tell me, but I doubt he'd lie to me. He has, however, improved my ability to lie, significantly. As we all know, _I_ a terrible fucking liar, but Dean, he can lie. I've been borrowing from Old Dean. I lied to Daddy, Uncle Dal and Uncle Chris the other night, no problem. Sure I told them something true, but I knew I wasn't telling them the whole truth and not even Daddy figured me out. But I'm not getting past Michael. Apparently. "Don’t believe me then. I don't have anything else to tell you."

Michael squints at me. "Fine Dean. Withhold information from me if you want, but I know something's up and I'm going to be watching you."

Fuck. This is going to make it infinitely harder to look at the fucking books I saw. I shrug. "I'm not withholding anything. Watch me then. See."

"Come with me," he says storming into the house.

I follow, a little scared. "Why?"

"Because," he says as we pass by Uncle Dallas, Daddy, Jake, Papa and Uncle Chris in the kitchen. Daddy's face says, _what did you do?_ but Papa minutely shakes his head at Daddy, letting Michael take care of this one. Since when did that become a thing?

I follow Michael up to the bedroom he's staying in and he immediately pulls out his wooden paddle, the one that's the fucking devil. "You can't punish me on suspicion, Michael."

"Oh believe me, I'm not. But I warned you, I'm done with you disobeying me on things I know, you know are important. That's what I'll be spanking you for. Though I'm done with you disrespecting me period. As for whatever it is you're withholding? I have all the patience in the world. As soon as I can prove that you're lying to me about your hand, I'll get to spank you for that too. No problem." He does seem rather calm and cool as a fucking cucumber.

His furiousness has dampened, but he's still displeased. He's right though, I knew what I was doing when I did it. "I really am sorry Michael."

"Come here, please."

Ooooh! (doesn't mean I can't be indignant over it)

I slink my way over to him, recalling how everyone downstairs knows what's about to happen. Not that it's any breaking news around here, but still. "Undo those," he instructs and I do with pleading eyes, hoping he won't use his paddle too liberally. Hey. A guy can hope however small, right? "Now pull them down to your ankles."

I frown, but do as I'm told. Rule number one _when_ being spanked is, don't antagonize the spanker. This is a time for best behavior, even if that doesn't always happen. Right now, with Michael though, I'm not fucking with him.

Even though he got me to pull down my jeans, _he_ pulls down my white, boxers, watching my face the whole time. "I am sorry," I say again.

He smiles a smirk-y smile. "I should hope so. Do you have any idea how much I worry about you? _Constantly_ Dean. The least you can do, is obey me."

I nod and he flips me over his knees, I squish my face into the bed linen. He begins without much warning. I've managed to not earn any real spankings since before the wedding, so my ass is kinda fresh.

All is as usual, for the first five minutes, him laying down crisp smacks, making my ass feel swollen, but then he pulls out the wooden paddle, early. Uh-oh. "Michael?"

"This is going to hurt, Dean." Yeah that's his response. Michael isn't easy on me. He lays in with spanks hard enough to have me squirming and I even put my hand back, without thinking about it. He wasn't kidding, it hurts. Fucking _hurts_.

Without missing a beat, he grabs both my wrists and pins them to my back. "Not fucking fair Michael!" Because he has angel strength.

"Very fucking fair. What's this spanking about?"

"Not asking p-permission, ow! to go out."

"Good boy. Who are you supposed to ask?"

"You. You!"

"You, what?"

"You, sir."

"And how was it you could have avoided this spanking?" he asks, still fucking spanking me with that lousy, wooden thing of evil. I'm seriously gonna make pencil shavings out of that thing for real this time.

"By asking permission." I get it. I get it. I fucking get it.

He wants to make it last though, so he carries on a good long time, with me squirming and thrashing and kicking. He doesn't mind all of that, even seems to enjoy it. "Am I getting through to you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm going to behave, ow! Sir."

"You had better, or this is merely a taste. I'm going to be strict about this one Dean. There are fucking demons showing up too often for my liking," he explains, finally giving me a break. I can feel that my ass is so much more swollen now, but more than that feeling, I can feel that he is going to be strict about this. As much as many of the spankings Michael gives me are serious, there has always been an undercurrent of playfulness. None of that is here now. He's as serious as a heart attack and he fucking means it.

Keeping my hands pinned, he finishes the spanking and it's not nice. It feels like millennia have passed, when he finally stands me up. I'm not crying though, just super red-faced and sorry. "Corner. That one."

I don't even complain about the corner time like I normally would, just step out of my underwear and head to the designated corner. Fuck, I really shook him up. I feel bad. I don't know how long he leaves me there, but I can feel him behind me the whole time, lying on the bed, staring at me. He didn't let the anger over my lie bleed into the spanking, but he is pissed about that and I can feel it pouring off him now.

"Okay, Duck. You've served your time for this. Come."

I turn and run to him, hopping onto the bed. I better get some serious fucking after-spanking cuddles for that. I do. He pulls me up through his legs and lays me on his chest. I'm half-naked (from the waist down) but there's nothing sexual about our interaction right now. I'm (for once) not even turned on. I just want us to put a seal on this. "I really am sorry, Michael. I won't forget next time. I… You really got it across this time how important this is to you."

He nods into my hair. "I'm glad. I don't actually relish in spanking you quite like that, but I will if you need it. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Michael." I don't add I've had worse spankings, he knows anyway, but no, I'm not typically spanked _this_ hard unless I've really fucked up. "But you know, I wouldn't mind if you rubbed my ass a little. It fucking hurts."

"Good," he says, but he starts rubbing. "You're meant to feel that for the rest of the evening. Maybe that's the only way you'll stay out of trouble." He sounds a bit sad though and it's breaking my heart. "We'll put some aloe on it in a bit."

There's quiet and we enjoy each other for some time before he voices, once again, the reason for his melancholy. "Please don't keep things from me, Dean. You know what it does to me."

I hate keeping things from him too. "If there's anything to tell you, I'll tell you," I promise him. This _thing_ with Old Dean, it could be one big goose chase; I have no idea why I'm fucking following it anymore, other than a feeling inside. What would I even do if I found something? Tell my uncles I guess.

My words don't settle him much, but he lets it go and I really fucking hope Old Dean's not kidding. I really hope my lies are for a good reason, because I hate lying for no good reason.

~Wednesday~

Michael and I are okay, but everybody's super fucking tense. So much has changed in a short time. We're all feeling out of sorts. "So, what's gonna happen?" Jake asks. He's noticed how strange the 'adults' are acting.

"The adults have to decided what's going to happen. We can't exactly take you on an airplane."

"The adults? What about us?"

"Nope. We don't get consulted for this. I mean, they'll probably ask our opinions on something, to give us some kind of responsibility, but the big stuff, they do that. Do you care?"

He shakes his head. "For this? Not really. It's just, weird, I guess."

"What do you say you and I get out of here while they do their thing?" Even Michael's in there.

"Weren't you just spanked for something like that? We can't exactly ask permission." In fairness to Jake, I showed him my ass and told him why I got spanked. It's kinda fun having a spanking buddy. My parents always said I wouldn't let them get another kid, maybe I should have?

"We're not gonna _go_ anywhere though. We'll stay here."

It's funny seeing Jake look so young. He's still tall with dark-hair that reaches the nape of his neck and he sure looks good in that Chesney hat. Also, Uncle Dal lent him some of my clothes, which are actually a bit big on him. Height-wise, we're the same, but I'm just this side of more bulky than he is muscle-wise. _Hockey._ He actually looks a lot like Uncle Chris, with just some hints of Uncle Dal. If they could make a baby together, I think it would have been Jake.

"They didn't say we had to wait outside the door." Outside the door is Grampa's office where the adults are holding conference. Jake and I followed and got promptly told to stay outside.

"They said stay outside."

"Alllll of this is outside, Jake."

"Chris and I have already talked about technicalities, Dean."

Yeah and so have Papa and I. About a thousand times, but a brat uses what he can. "I thought you weren't supposed to call him Chris?"

"Yeah," he says irritated. "Dallas made it a rule, now I'm supposed to call him… the other thing."

"Dallas?"

"Whatever. I thought we were doing something?"

"I dunno. You're too busy being Mr. Well-Behaved."

"I don't fancy feelin' the wrath of Dal-Daddy's brush again."

I smile. That's cute. "You won't. We'll do something no one will get upset about. Let's go sit in the back of Uncle Dal's truck with a beer and watch the stars."

"I don't think we're allowed beer, are we?"

"So long as we only have one. No one'll mind. It's a thing they let us do – all the Colt children."

"We're Winchesters, Dean."

That does throw a small wrench into the machinery. "So long as we're responsible then. Grampa's let me before."

"Okay then. Sounds fun."

We grab the beers. I even text Michael to tell him we're outside and where and I feel pretty good about that. We've got pillows too and we're pretty cozy, looking up at the stars. "You seem to be settling into teenage-hood pretty easily," I say. It's sort of a question. I'm trying not to pry, but I hope he answers.

He takes a long pull of his beer. "My teenage years were better times. I mean, still no bed of roses, but I was able to do more for myself. Make a few friends. Less lonely."

I nod. No wonder he's so happy to have a family again, he was so lonely.

"My daddy, he taught me never to work alone, but then I was. I didn't know what to do with myself – that I remember."

"Do you remember, loving it? The hunting?" I know I did. I still have that memory. The one that came back the other day.

"Not particularly. I felt obligated. I wanted to get the job done. But no; I've always wanted out."

Huh. I wouldn't have guessed that from the way he was before, but I guess that's how hunters are taught to be; can't show all your cards. "I just want this Dean. A family. A do over. I really do."

I tell him a few stories, some of the ones we were telling while he was passed out, to catch him up on family life, seeing as he seems to love it so much. Uncle Dal scares the bejeezus out of us, coming up like a ninja, his big, bare round biceps flexed, with his arms crossed, his cream cowboy hat on. He does have a lot of holes in his jeans. Uncle Chris always says that. Uncle Dal looks about as displeased as Uncle Dal gets.

"What you two doin'?"

I shrug. "Nothing special Uncle Dal, just having a beer and looking at the stars."

"C'mon, inside."

I sit up. "Are we in trouble?" 'Cause it sounds like we are and I'm confused.

"No one said you two could have beer."

Jake pushes me, pissed. "Told you."

"We're allowed one, Uncle Dal. It was just one." I stand up and hop down from the back of Uncle Dal's truck.

"That's not the rule, Dean. You're supposed to ask, it's not a free for all."

"Well sure, at home, but we're here. It's a Colt rule," I feel like I have to remind him, like he somehow forgot to be a Colt for a second.

"Does it look like you're anywhere near Colt territory, Sur?"

"You just said, Sur, Uncle Dal. That's pretty Colt," I grumble. 'Cause it is.

"Well I shouldn't be in trouble. I didn’t know the rule. I went along with what Dean said," Jake complains.

All Uncle Dal sees are two yahoo teens. "Nice try, Jake Travis. I already spoke to you about beer just the other day. What I say goes, not Dean," Uncle Dal says. He's not pleased, but he doesn't seem raging mad; in fact, I think he's somewhat amused.

We are led into Gramma and Grampa's Parlor Room, where they usually do their entertaining. "Got'em," Uncle Dal says as he points us to the couch, which all of the adults are circled around. I check in with Daddy and Papa; they don't _look_ mad, but I think I've earned a talking to. That's not so bad.

"Thank you Dallas," Papa says, taking the stage. Grampa's swirling his whisky, looking a little serious. Michael looks serious too, but not mad; boy am I glad I sent him that text message. Daddy's just concerned.

"Right, well as you boys know, we've reached the end of our stay. We were supposed to leave Saturday."

_Supposed to?_

"But with Jake modfying, we've decided to lengthen our stay. Dallas wants Sam here, Sam wants Dean here. I unfortunately have to go back to work."

What about Dean wants Papa here? You think I'd be ecstatic, because without Papa here, the main source of strictness leaves, but I don't like the sound of that. Not at all. I suppose you could say I'm _used_ to Papa being away, but I still never like it. Especially not for too long. I don't say anything, but I also don't hide my expression which tells the whole story. Papa acknowledges me softly with a facial gesture and continues.

"Therefore, I'm going to leave Saturday. Dean, you're going to stay with Daddy which means you'll have to miss some of your dry land hockey training this year, but we don't feel it's going to hinder your performance; this is more important."

"Yes, sir."

"Michael also has to leave Saturday; he couldn't acquire an extended stay. His uncle will be coming to get him."

"That's baloney!" I say unable to help myself.

"Also not our decision, Dean," Papa says sternly. Yeah. I get it. Michael's father.

God. That's a fucking punch in the gut, though. I was getting so used to having Michael at my disposal. Living in Dean and Michael land. I'm missing him already.

"One more bit of bad news, Christian has to take a short trip, just for a couple of days and just over to Florida, then he'll be back, but depending on Jake's modifying schedule – which we can't predict – he won't be heading back with you four, since he's got some other work related appointments."

No one expects Jake's reaction. "You're leaving? That's horseshit."

"Jake," Uncle Dal warns.

"Well it is. Don't you have some, like, post-wedding time off or something? Like a honeymoon?" he asks, crossing his arms.

Uncle Chris shakes his head. "I will upcomin', but all the wedding stuff was spontaneous. I really wasn't expectin' us to get married 'till next year," he explains, smiling over to Uncle Dal, happy with the way things turned out. "I already took off all this time for July. I have to go back. We weren't… we weren't planning on a honeymoon, kid." Uncle Chris doesn't add the part about it being because of Jake they aren't doing a honeymoon, but I know. They began talking about a delayed honeymoon, when they were planning the wedding and before Jake came back, but all that's cancelled for the foreseeable future.

"Whatever," Jake says. Papa twists his lips at him, but doesn't say anything.

"Well that's all the negative news. Onto the positive. We've decided what we're doing with the Impala. When the Modlenol's done doing its thing in Jake's system, y'all are going to drive back."

"Woo hoo! Road trip!" I say. That is good news.

"What about my car?" Jake asks.

Papa looks to Uncle Dal, wordlessly asking if he wants to say and Uncle Dal nods. "You won't need it Jakey. We'll leave it here for now." Uncle Dal's voice is soft, knowing it's something that Jake might not take well. We don't get the explosion we expect, but he does have a silent tantrum about it; crossing his arms and glaring at nothing.

"Any other questions?"

"Yeah, I'm driving, right?" That's me.

"You can drive Dean," Papa says.

"Woo hoo!"

That's two woo hoos in one sitting. Papa smiles at me.

"I'm glad some of the news makes you happy. You're not upset about hockey camp?"

"Naw. Like you said, I'll be okay." I'd rather go on a totally awesome road trip. I'm super bummed Michael can't come, but I'm sure we'll text and Skype everyday. We can live without each other for a little can't we?

"Last bit of business. Dean, we're getting some semi-permanent house guests. Jake, Dallas and Christian are moving in."

I go for the triple. "Woooo Hooo! That's awesome." I hated when Uncle Dal moved out. I mean, he's always by anyway, but it's not the same as him living there.

"You're really happy about that half pint?"

"Yeah, Uncle Dal. It's going to be like old times."

"I'll be in and out," Uncle Chris pipes in. "I'm still travelling lots for work, which means I'll keep my apartment here, but you'll be seeing this mug often enough."

Jake looks pissed and it's easy to figure out why considering his last outburst – he doesn't like the sound of Chris going away. He keeps silent though.

"That mean you're gonna stay home, Uncle Dal?" I ask.

"Sure am. It's good timing too. I just finished a big tour. I can take a break. Go back to it when I want. I've always wanted to be a stay at home Daddy." Uncle Dal's heart's so full right now, he looks like he's going to burst.

Well I'm happy even if Jake's being a grouch.

"Okay, if there are no more questions – dismissed. Dean I want to speak with you alone, please."

How is that dismissed? "Yes, Papa."

"Jake. Bedtime," Uncle Dal says.

"It's barely ten."

"Now." Uncle Dal puts out a hand for him. Jake slugs himself off the couch and takes Uncle Dal's hand; the three head off.

"I'm going to turn in myself," Grampa says.

"Me too," Gramma says, with a little too much gleam in her eyes. They're gonna do it aren't they?

We're left with me, Daddy, Michael and Papa. "Michael, sit there," Papa instructs him.

"I believe the saying is don't shoot the messenger," Michael says, but he does as asked.

"You're not in trouble Michael and neither are you Dean, but no more beer unless you _ask_ first; and that's even if the Colt cousins are drinking. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Guess I got out of that one by the skin of my teeth.

"I think things have been a little too lax around here and that's what I want to talk to you two about. I know we're not at home and everything's been fun, a big party, but it's time to get back on the home circuit. Stay out of trouble, Dean." Papa doesn't need to add an 'or else' or an anything really. He just expects his bidding done.

"Yes, sir."

"And you, keep him out of trouble."

"Yes, sir," Michael says.

"On that note, I think an early night for everyone is in order. Dean bed. Michael bed. Sam bed." Wow. Papa's on a rampage. We scamper off once we've said goodnight, glad to be out from under his gaze. He's in one of those moods where he just wants his family tucked in neatly, which is a phrase from Daddy and I get it.

Michael walks me to my room, so I can change into my PJ's, then I follow him to his, so he can do the same. We head to the washroom to brush our teeth together. Michael probably doesn't really need to brush his teeth, but he likes doing it; he finds the ritual soothing. It's also how we've had some pretty meaningful talks. "You okay about all this, Michael?"

He squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush aggressively, then passes it to me. "Okay? Of course I'm not okay. I'm going to be without you."

That takes my breath away. I think it's the solidness of the statement. It's not, 'what will I do without you,' it's just a thing that is; that's _wrong_. The wrongness of that fact hangs in the air, like someone should do something about it. "I know Michael, I hate it too."

"You'll be having fun on your road trip, you'll forget all about me; but mark my words Dean you had better call me and text me often. Rule."

I laugh as I brush. "Of course I'll be calling and texting you – how could I forget about you?" The Michael I came to Texas with, is very different from the one I'm leaving with. I brush and I watch him methodically scrub each tooth in the way he does, making little circles from the top of the gum, down over the hard white bit.

He's angry as fuck and frustrated because there's nothing he can do about it. His Angel OCD is about to take a turn for the worse. I want to make it all better for him, but there's nothing I can do about this one. However…

I pop myself up onto the bathroom counter, sitting like I used to when Daddy would brush my teeth – yeah I was littler, but still far too old for having him brush my teeth. "What are you doing?" Michael asks, spitting into the sink.

"Here, when you're done you, do me," and no I don't me _do_ me as in the sex kind of do me.

I'm not one hundred percent sure how he'll react; it even takes him a second to figure out how to react. "Duck I… yeah, I'd like that." It would mean a lot to him is what he doesn't say, but I know that's what he means – I'm starting to get better at reading Michael. No I'm not perfect at it, might never be, but I'm better and it's making us better.

~**~

"Am I in trouble? I really don't think I should be," Jake cuts me off at the pass in case I had planned on scolding him, or worse.

"You're not in trouble, but I mean it when I say no more beer, understand?"

"How's that fair? Can't we talk about this? I think I should get a going away party."

"You're not goin' anywhere though, sweetpea. You want to take a quick shower Jakey?" I ask, 'cept I'm not really asking. He knows.

"Yeah."

"There are towels in there for you," I tell him.

"What? You're not coming in t'bathe me?" he jokes.

"You know, there is a pretty nice-sized bath brush in there…"

"I'm going. I'm going." As he heads into the bathroom, Chris snatches the Chesney hat off his head and hangs it up. Jake shuts the door behind him. I hear the water turn on.

"He's sleepin' with us, yeah, Dals?" Chris makes sure.

"'Course cowboy," I say, pulling him in for a kiss then rubbing noses with him. "What's going on?"

"I feel bad. Did you hear how upset he was I was leaving?"

"He'll be fine. That's the whole point in us moving back with Sam and Cas – more family for Jake to be around all the time; how he likes, since you still have to work."

Chris nods. "Yeah, I guess."

I trail my fingers up his bare arm, forgetting (only briefly) that we've got a Jake in the shower next door. I want him again. "Dean lived, darlin'. Jake will too."

"You're right Dals, just, his face…"

We change into our PJ's while Jake showers and this time when he comes out, he's reasonably dry – dry enough not to turn the carpets into a lake. "Here you go, Jakey," I say handing him some clothes for bed. Chris is analyzing him, probably not feeling one bit better about having to leave for work and Jake's reaction to all of it. I don't think much is gonna fix that at present.

"You still mad at me, Jake?" Chris asks.

Jake's glare is accusing. "I'm not mad. Why would I care?"

Chris takes the shirt and pajama pants out of his hands tossing the pants onto the bed and opening the shirt so he can help Jake put it on. "You sounded like you cared downstairs."

"Well I'm cool now."

Lordy be. Chris helps Jake into his pajama pants. "Did you brush your teeth, Jake?" I ask, trying to change the subject for now, so we can all go to bed. I'm beat. We're all beat.

"Yeah, I brushed'em."

"Then into bed."

I get the full force of his glare now, but he does climb into bed. He'll be slightly more amendable in the morning I'm sure, after a good night's rest. I turn out the light and Chris and I climb in on either side of Jake. "Don't y'all want to hold each other or somethin'? I should sleep on a bed end, or maybe somewhere else."

"Jake."

"Well? He's leavin' soon. Might wanna get time in while you can."

"Hey now, I'm comin' back, cowboy."

"You don't know that."

Ah. I see what's going on here. I look to Chris, he reads my mind. I roll Jake so he's facing Chris and snuggle in behind him. Chris snuggles into his front, and not one to deny snuggles, (least he hasn't so far) Jake grabs onto Chris. "Nothin's gonna happen to me. Don't you remember about Grampa Clyde? Demons are afraid of him."

That makes Jake laugh. "He's pretty terrifying."

Chris pushes Jake's floppy hair back off his head, which is still wet from his shower then runs fingers over his face, tracing, like he's trying to memorize him through touch. "I love you, Jake," my husband says. The simplicity is beautiful. I get all teary-eyed. "Maybe I could… maybe I could get a couple of extra days off, switch my Florida trip… Be here to make sure I see you through your changes."

"If Cas gets wind of that, you know exactly what he'll say," I remind him. I don't want to rain on his cheer-up-Jake parade, but starting that now is a bad idea.

"Yeah, but it's worth a shot." Jake's worth it, is what he's saying. Makes me smile.

Jake shakes his head. "Don't change your work schedule, on account of me."

"I'll change it if I want to."

I give him a certain _look._ One he knows.

"That is, if Dallas says I can."

"We'll talk about it," I say. We smile at each other across Jake, the moon glowing on our faces in from the window.

Jake yawns.

"In the meantime, your body needs sleep dumplin'. Close your eyes," I say softly.

He doesn't fight me this time, knowing I'm right. I've been noticing his droopy eyelids all night; not even the shower woke him up. It's not long and I know he's out cold, by the way he's twitching. Of course I'm dead tired, but wide awake worrying about Jake, who's right here with me. _Welcome to parenthood, Dallas._

"Hey Dals, you still awake?" Chris whispers.

"Uh-huh."

"I feel like a first class heel. Who needs work? We've got money for days."

"You do, Chris." Love him to pieces I do, but he'll drive me insane if he doesn't have work. It's just the way he's built. "You know it."

"Yeah, it's just inconvenient right now."

Can't argue with that. "He'll be fine. Promise." I'll probably have to make that promise a few more times. "Now go to sleep Chris. You need sleep too; no more worrying about it."

"Okay, but only if you go to sleep too."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, yes sir."

"Better. But I will go to sleep too Darlin', so you can stop worryin' 'bout that too."


	51. Sibling Mischief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I've had mostly finished for, forever, finally done. 
> 
> The hits keep coming for ol' Mock. Had another furry friend pass, one of my buns. She was a sweet, and feisty one. I'll miss her so much. 
> 
> On the bright side, my muse is coming alive again, and writing is much easier these days. I have still not achieved Mock Machine status, but that's coming. 
> 
> This chapter doesn't do much in the way of furthering the plot--okay, it doesn't even try to, it's pure Mock indulgence. I don't know about you guys, but I sure needed all the spanking this chapter has to offer, so I hope you enjoy it on spank-factor, if nothing else!

"Pee in this."

Daddy hands Jake a little plastic cup. I laugh at him. "Shut up, Dean."

"S'if you wouldn't laugh at me."

"Cut it out you two. Jake. Go."

Jake glares at Daddy, but he heads off to do as bid. "Dean, do you have patronize him? He's having a hard time."

"I never had a sibling, Daddy. I'm making up for lost time," I say cheeky-like. It works. Daddy smiles.

"Behave yourself, Dean Winchester."

Uncle Dal enters the kitchen, hair wet from his shower. "What did I miss?"

"Sibling rivalry," Daddy answers.

"I hope you're bein' nice to Jake, half pint. He's not doin' so good."

Uncle Dal looks so beat. "Just some light-hearted teasing. We like it. It's how we do, Uncle Dal."

Uncle Dal doesn't look so sure, but he doesn't get to comment, Jake returns with his cup of pee. "Here."

Daddy takes it from him and puts in on a paper towel on the counter. "Good news, Jake. I can now determine if you're still going to modify, or not. Likely at this point the answer is yes, which will make this first time a good test."

"How's it work, Daddy?" I ask.

"It's like a litmus test, maybe a bit more like using Keto-Strips? Somewhere between the two I suppose. This one is metabolite based. I just have to dip this strip in the pee and it will react to the metabolites in Jake's pee. Or not if they're all gone. Wish they had this when you were modifying, Dean Bean."

We all stare around Jake's urine, as Daddy dips the strip in. The strip turns a dark purple color. "Whoa," Daddy says. "Yeah, you've got a few more changes."

"How many?" Jake asks.

"Don't know, but a few."

Uncle Dal looks concerned.

"I know it's hard Dally, but he'll be all right," Daddy assures him. "We'll be right here with you every step of the way."

I know what Uncle Dal's picturing though, because I know Uncle Dal. It's already been heartbreaking for him to have Jake go through the changes as an adult, having him go through them as a little tyke's gonna be unbearable. I'm really getting a picture of what it must have been like for my parents.

"Thanks, Sammy. I really do appreciate you."

I look over at Jake, and in true hunter fashion, he's not concerned for himself, but for Uncle Dal. Man, he really didn't think they'd care so much, did he? Now he's realizing the repercussions of what he's done.

Uncle Chris and Papa walk into the kitchen. "Good news, we worked it out so I can stay, longer. Gotta go into the Texas office a couple times next week, but no travel 'till mid-August." Uncle Chris crowns Jake with the Chesney hat. "Sound good, cowboy?"

Jake rolls his eyes. "Whatever you wanna do."

No one buys that.

"What's going on Dals?" Uncle Chris asks.

"Sammy just figured out how much Modlenol's still running through Jake's system. He's got a few changes to go through."

"Yeah, so if someone could take me to the nearest bar before I'm five, that'd be great. I should get to go out in style," Jake says.

"You're stayin' put, Sur. You could change at any moment and I want eyes on you."

"Dean can watch me."

The look he gets from Uncle Dal is _not_ a look anyone wants from Uncle Dal, he wisely shuts up.

"That mean you're changing your mind on coming to Mama's?" Daddy asks. "She's got a bunch of stuff to give you for Jake. She was hoping you'd come look, and you did already tell her you'd be by today." Nan insists on keeping a collection of stuff for passing down if need be. It's not a money thing, just a good sense thing, as she explains. Little ones don't use things for long, and with how this family reproduces, what's the sense in buying new, when there are plenty of perfectly good items someone else could use in the family?

Uncle Dal thinks. "I dunno."

"I'll watch the pair of'em. That way, if Jake changes, he's here. Go ahead, Dals. They'll be fine. Plus, Michael and Cas will be here," Uncle Chris says.

"Actually, they're heading over to the club with Clyde," Daddy says. "And Claire wants to come with us. You'll be here alone with them."

Michael's going to the club with Papa and Grampa? "'Them' are right here Daddy, and we're seventeen if anyone's forgotten. We don't need a babysitter."

"Yeah. And I might look seventeen, but I don’t feel seventeen. I'm much older than that," Jake says.

"Argue all you like Dean, but these are Papa's orders – for you anyway."

This is horseshit. "Unbelievable!" I bet this is Papa's way of feeling better about the Old Dean invasion. It would have been nice to have been told, but I see it now. I sensed they've been keeping a closer eye on me, but it's more than that.

"What's unbelievable, Kiddo?" Papa says, walking into the kitchen with Michael and Grampa.

Michael makes his way over to me and slips his hand in mine. And no, I'm not fucking saying shit to Papa. I can be reckless, but I'm not that stupid. "Uh, nothing Papa. You guys are taking Michael to that club?"

Papa doesn't look like he's sure about that idea, but Grampa is and what Grampa says goes. "We sure are, Dean," Grampa says. "I hope you don't take offense that I didn't invite you this time, but it's going to be a little more adult today." In other words, more Top-like. If Uncle Dal didn't already have plans, I bet he would have been invited too.

"No sir, Grampa, no offense taken. I'm going to hang out here with Jake and Uncle Chris."

"Sounds like fun," Grampa says. "We'd better be off though fellas. "

Michael squeezes my hand and kisses my forehead. "See you later, Duck. Behave."

Papa, Michael, and Grampa head off; Gramma Winchester glides into the kitchen. "So gentlemen? We going?"

Daddy looks over to Uncle Dal, who's still unsure, but he nods. "Yeah, we're ready. Just let me get rid of this," Daddy says referring to Jake's pee. Ew!

While Daddy does that, Uncle Dal has a moment with Jake. "You can call me if you need me at anytime. We won't be gone too long."

"Yeah, Daddy. I know," Jake says. That makes Uncle Dal smile. He yanks Jake into him for a quick squeeze, only, he's still squeezing him when Daddy returns. The surprising thing is, Jake doesn't seem to mind so much; seems to be enjoying the cuddles. I think Jake might be a closet-cuddler.

Sure glad I'm not like that.

Daddy grabs me and pulls me to him. I latch on, you know, because he clearly needs it. "You doing okay, Dean Bean?" he asks, sliding my hair out of my eyes. He squeezes me tight.

"I'm okay, Daddy. Really."

He nods and kisses the top of my head, looking unsure. He's thinking of Old Dean too. That guy's doing nothing so far, but seriously ruining my mojo, and it's all irritating. "I'm not gonna implode, Daddy."

Daddy twists his lips. "You've got a lot of people who worry about you, I get that, but be nice, you." That's Daddy's polite way of warning me when he doesn't want to full on scold me, again the worry.

I sigh. "Sorry, Daddy."

Uncle Dal, who seems to be doing his best to resemble a Winchester these days (I guess because he is now?) isn't as forgiving. He's still hanging onto Jake. "Dean, I know you heard your father tell you to behave yourself before he left," Uncle Dal says.

Ugh. "Yes, sir."

**

"Come with me," I say to Jake. I won't feel good leaving if I don't chat with him in private to make sure he's all right with me leaving—Jake would put a front on for others and well, he looks so small and young like he is now. I grab his hand, not caring too much if I'm infantilizing him a little (he is my baby boy after all) and drag him off to the living room.

I start checking him over, looking for signs of fever, or any other changes that could occur, even though Sammy's given me at least another day before he thinks anything'll happen. He's irritated, but he obliges me, knowing I'm in no mood. I'm sure he's caught onto the way I've been scolding Dean this morning and I know I'm being strict, but all I can see are two brats in need of some structure right now, with all of the crazy goings on. "Daddy," he finally complains.

"You want to come with us to Nan's? There's no shame in that. I can tell everyone it's what I decided." And I'm a hair away from just deciding anyway. This is nerve-wrecking. Being a parent. I have to remind myself he'll be with Chris—his other parent.

He gets all shy on me, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, look I won't deny that for some dumb reason, being near you is comforting." _That's it, I'm not doing this, not doing this, he's coming with me._ "But, I'd like to spend time with just Papa, well I guess and also Dean, but you, well, you know what I mean."

My racing heart slows a touch. He wants to spend time with his papa, I can respect that—I love spending time with his papa too. "I do, Jakey." What he's said is a lot—for him. I can work with that. I rub his arm—it's so much skinnier now—and do one more cursory look over. His eyes look dark around the edges. "I should be back in time, but if I'm not, I want you to have a rest this afternoon. If you can't fall asleep, that's fine, but you'll lay down and close your eyes, please."

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't sass me further than that. "Yes, sir."

"Do I need to remind you to behave yourself?" I don't have a good feeling. I shouldn't go. This is a mistake.

Jake must sense my apprehension. He softens his eyes and gives me his charming smile. "I'll behave myself, Daddy."

Now I'm the one rolling my eyes to the sky. "Lordy, be. You'll be the death of me, Sur."

**

"So guys, what do you think of ice cream?" Uncle Chris asks us.

I jump at the opportunity. "Heck yeah!" Jake looks at me funny. "Believe me, you want all the ice cream you can now."

"I won't be bought for something so juvenile, Papa," Jake says. He crosses his arms in effort to appear more adult.

"Suit yourself," I say. "You clearly have no idea what a luxury that kind of sugar is with a Colt. I'm in Uncle Chris. I can be bought."

Jake considers me. "All right. Me too."

"You two done? If we've any hope of actually gettin' the ice cream, and gettin' back before Dals is, and then catching hell for it, we should go. Also, I've got a bit of business to attend to once we're back."

"We're done, Uncle Chris."

Uncle Chris makes sure the Chesney hat is snug on Jake's head. "All right, knuckleheads. Let's go."

Uncle Chris lets us get whatever we want, so I get three scoops; Jake gets a double. Hey. Sugar-deprived-boy, here. "Daddy would have a fit if he saw how much sugar I'm having," I tell Jake, while Uncle Chris uses the restroom.

Jake shakes his head. "You're one big baby, Dean. You ever gonna act like you're seventeen?"

"I do too."

"Most seventeen year olds don't worry about what their parents think of their sugar intake."

"Well maybe I give a fuck about my parents. Is that so wrong?" Jeez. This guy. I'll fix him. "Oh fuck. Is that Uncle Dal's truck pulling into the parking lot?"

Jake's eyes go wide with terror. "Shit. Dean, take this."

Jake pushes his cone at me, and I grab it on instinct, but I'm not ready for it and it smashes into my hand, breaking in half, the ice cream falling onto the floor. I burst out laughing.

Jake turns to check the parking lot, and when he catches onto that there's no Uncle Dal coming for him, he's pure rage. "Damn you Winchester, my ice cream!"

That only makes me laugh more. "What's the m-m-matter, Jake? Just ask Papa to buy you a new one."

He looks like he's going to kick my ass, and he probably would have, but Uncle Chris comes back. "Hey, what's going on here?"

"Jake threw his ice cream at me," I say. Well he did.

Uncle Chris looks confused. Understandable. "That true?"

"Yeah, but…" We both know he's not going to admit to being scared over Uncle Dal in the parking lot. "Yeah, it's true. I'm sorry, Papa. Just horsing around."

Uncle Chris knows what he has to do, but I can tell he doesn't really want to do it. "Well clean that up and I'm sorry, I'm not buying you another one if you're gonna throw it around like that."

"Yes, sir," Jake says, all the while, I can feel his anger at me.

"No more horseplay you two. Gosh, you'd think you were a couple of toddlers."

"Hey, I'm not the one throwing ice cream!"

"Dean, I don't know what you did, and I doubt I'm gonna get a confession outta either one of ya, but I know you were both antagonizing the other."

Okay. So Uncle Chris is suddenly Sherlock Holmes. I have the decency to look chagrined.

As we're heading to the car; "I'll get you back, Winchester," Jake tells me. I'm not worried, as I enjoy my triple decker ice cream, while he watches on, jealous as fuck.

"Maybe finish that outside the car Dean. I don't want ice cream all over my leather seats," Uncle Chris says.

"Not a toddler, Uncle Chris. I'm not gonna drip ice cream everywhere," I say as I suck dripping ice cream from my fingers.

He looks me up and down. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I guess you guys aren't," he says and I swear I can hear him mumble, " _but y'all sure act like it sometimes._ "

I don't think Uncle Chris is too impressed with us, and while he might be easy going for a Winchester, that doesn't mean easy going in the real sense. We should probably be careful, but both Jake and I are equally bratty today. Thankfully he's in the front seat with Uncle Chris, where we can't pester one another.

We make it back to Winchester Central, me with a belly full of ice cream, and Jake with crossed arms. "I know it's backwards, since y'allready had dessert, but I should probably feed you two lunch before I attend to my call," he says heading to the kitchen. "Dals'll kill me if you two don't eat something proper."

"C'mon. We can do that ourselves, Papa. Can't we Dean?" Jake says, like I didn't do what I did in the ice cream place. He's up to something.

Uncle Chris doesn't let me answer. "I might'ah thought that before this morning. I'll be making you both lunch. Behave and I'll leave you on your own to eat it."

I think the last part is him teasing, but it's hard to say. We have been a nuisance. He fixes us some of Gramma's homemade, Winchester soup from the freezer and sandwiches, while we set the table and generally try not to start anything. It's hard when there are about a million things _to_ do brat-wise. Instead, Jake and I are both glaring at each other in an I-dare-you-like fashion. We bring out the brat in each other, what can I say?

Uncle Chris sets the food before us. "I'll be back to eat, but you two can go ahead and start. I'm trusting you two."

That's code for: Fuck up and pay. In spankings. And whatever else he deems necessary. "Yes, sir, Uncle Chris."

"We're not toddlers," Jake decides to say. Stupidly. Also, that word keeps coming up.

And now he's gone and _really_ irritated Uncle Chris. Uncle Chris turns a dark look on Jake, and me, which totally isn't fair, but I'm thankfully not dumb enough to say anything about what's fair and what's not, especially when I know he'll disagree with my definition. "You really don't want me commentin' on that right now. Both of you behave, eat, and stop antagonizing the other, which _is_ actin' like toddlers."

"Yes, Papa," Jake says.

I have the good sense to be quiet and begin eating. When Uncle Chris is gone, we both look at each other and laugh. "You idiot! You're going to get us spanked," I tell him.

"Not if you do first." He tears into this sandwich. "What do we do now?"

I shrug. "Don't know. I'm hopped up on sugar; we could find you some."

"Or we could see if we can pound three beers a piece, be drunk, and have no one notice." What the hell?

"That's the worst idea. First, we were warned only yesterday—in which case, by the way, you were the one apprehensive. Second, we _would_ get found out. Uncle Chris is right, we're toddlers, we don't have the stealth for that."

"Fine, you think of something then."

"I will. And it will be a thousand times better than your lousy idea."

"Let's see what kinda goody-two-shoes idea you come up with—this oughta be good."

"I've got an idea, how about I punch you in the face? You've got it coming to you anyhow!" I don't actually plan on punching him, I'm just mad at him for being so pompous and yeah, so what if I am still mad at him for taking off? I want him to know just how mad.

"I'd like to see your pussy-ass try."

I lift my hand, forgetting it's attached to the spoon, which is in the soup bowl, and soup goes flying at Jake. "Shit man, that was an accident."

"Sure it was." He doesn't believe me, and decides to flick soup at me.

"Mine was an accident. Now we're uneven." Now I have to get even. I flick some more of my soup at him, but he whips out of the way, I miss and get the wall. "You Jackass."

"For not letting you get me?" he says and rises out of his seat.

"For not letting me get even. That first flick was an accident."

"Still counts." He launches a stream of soup at me, by digging soup, up and out of his bowl. This time I just up and swerve out of the way. The soup hits Gramma's nice wall instead of him.

"That's it, now we're really not even." I start throwing bits of my sandwich at him. He does the same. At some point, he gets the idea to pick up his bowl of soup and, send all the broth flying toward me. That does hit me; I get drenched. Pissed, I do the same to him.

And that's how Uncle Chris finds us. "What in the…?" He catches each of our shirts by the scruff, yanking us apart like angry kittens, and preventing us throwing anymore food. "I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you do this?" He let's us go and gives us a very Winchester-y look of disappointment.

"Well he…" we both start in at once, trying to explain our side. None of it makes sense and none of it sounds good to Uncle Chris.

"Okay, I've heard enough. You two are both getting spanked for this—whatever this is—then you're spending the rest of the afternoon, cleaning Gramma's kitchen top to bottom." Uncle Chris doesn't usually mess around when doling out punishments, and he stays true to Winchester form.

We watch him open the drawer I know contains the wooden spoon, and now Jake knows too. He doesn't waste time, pulling out a chair, the only one without food, or soup broth all over it. "You first Dean. Pants and underwear down. Jake, take the hat off, wait there, hands behind your back."

I do as instructed, not wanting to piss him off more. He's pretty ticked. Being spanked by Uncle Chris is awful in the sense you feel like you've let your best friend down. He's a cool guy, like James Dean cool, and he's ultra reasonable. Driving him to spank means you've been extra irritating, and once he's at that point, he goes into super Winchester mode. Jake looks, kinda scared actually. Makes me wonder if he's ever been spanked by Uncle Chris. I wasn't super specific in my after-spanking-integration, and just assumed it was Uncle Dal handing out all the discipline at the out set, which makes no sense—Daddy's spanked me plenty.

With Jake looking scared, I attempt to brave up, even though I know this is going to fucking hurt. _It's just a spanking, it's just a spanking, it's just a spanking._ And really, it is. You usually feel like you're going to die during, but no one has ever died from a spanking. Well, yet. And what if I'm the first? No. Not A Thing.

I do as instructed, I pull my jeans and boxers down, and man do I feel like a little kid getting a spanking right now—Uncle Chris has been eluding to how childish we've been all day, so I suppose it's fitting. He puts me over his knee, and doesn't waste time heading straight into some pretty hard smacks. Uncle Chris spanks like a Winchester, especially on someone like me who is well-seasoned for spanking. I had a whole thing in my head, that I was gonna be stoic and take my spanking like a grown-up, but all that's out the window from the outset. I'm already having to move my legs around, trying to move the pain and make it hurt less, but nothing's making it hurt less. "Ow, Unc-Uncle Chris!"

"I warned y'all, and warned yah," he says, smacking away. "If this is how I hafta get it through, I will. Jus' look at your grandmother's kitchen, exploded nonsense everywhere."

Through it all, I can't help wishing maybe Uncle Chris could turn me, so Jake doesn't have the full viewing he has, but I know exactly the response I'll get to that. We didn't find it embarrassing enough, behaving as we were to get to here, no one cares about how embarrassing we find the positions ourselves in after the fact, so I spare myself that lecture at least.

Uncle Chris isn't nice with spoon either, and I lose all composure, kicking and fussing and all around hollering, just short of saying things that will buy me more licks with his nasty little spoon. My ass feels like it's a hot balloon by the time he's done with me, and boy am I fucking glad to be done. "You behave yourself, Dean. Set a good example for your cousin."

"Yes, sir."

"Get started on the kitchen, you, c'mere," he says to Jake.

I get to see Jake's wide eyes as I pull my clothes up over my stinging ass. I guess watching me did not give him hope. "Y-you okay, Dean?"

"You two can console each other later, get your butt over here, Jake." Uncle Chris is in no mood for us doing anything. Even if we're suddenly comrades now. Tends to happen when you get spanked together. I give him a look meant for good luck and I try to get to work, but it's hard to focus on anything over the loud slaps and Jake's version of hollering, which isn't too far off from my own, only his contain a whole lot of, "I'm sorry Papa's."

In any case, I'm certain that Jake's having exactly the amount of unpleasant that I just had. I make effort to find Gramma's cleaning supplies, but I do take a peek at Uncle Chris's hand making contact with Jake's ass. I have to say, Jake has a pretty nice ass, but right now, said ass looks miserable. When Uncle Chris starts in with the spoon, I legit cringe. Fuck. I can still feel all the places Uncle Chris went at me with that fucking spoon.

Jake's spanking feels like an eternity, I even feel embarrassment on his behalf, as he struggles over Uncle Chris's lap, yelping and pleading. When Uncle Chris is done with Jake, I let go a breath I didn't know I was holding, and relax the bit of tension, from wincing and cringing along with the smacks. "You'll be a good boy now, won't you, Jakey?"

"Yes, sir," Jake says like he's making a vow. Yeah, Uncle Chris was not pleased with us and we got it pretty good. We're both planning on being angels—the non-dick kind—now.

"All right then, get to work. I expect this kitchen gleaming before anyone gets home," he tells us both, sending Jake off with a final slap to his bottom, before Jake readjusts his clothes. Uncle Chris leaves, and Jake comes over to join me.

Jake's face is all red, and he's glaring at the doorway. "Jeez that was awful."

"You wanna hug, dontcha?" I tease.

He thinks about denying it, but doesn't. "Well he could have given us something after a spanking like that."

"He expects we'll console each other, and it's not like we can't just go and ask him for a hug if we need it—I'm fine."

"Whatever. What's it look like back there?" he asks pulling his boxers down again slightly so I can see.

"Probably not as bad as it feels. It's red, like fucking red, but that's it. What about me?" I turn around and show him my ass, he reaches out and touches it, and I thank all that is holy that Michael's not here to see someone else—even if it's only Jake—touching my ass.

"Same, just really fucking red, no bruising, but shit is it ever hot to touch."

"Yeah, I can feel that."

From there on out, we're sweet as pie, and we work hard to get Gramma's kitchen back to its pristine condition. Uncle Chris approves of our work, and Jake gets his hug. "Sorry we were awful Papa," Jake says, squeezing the life out of Uncle Chris.

And not a moment too soon, everyone returns.

**

I see it in my baby boy's eyes soon as I get home, he hasn't slept and something's up. He seems sheepish, and apprehensive. "Jake, everything okay?" I put down the bags of clothes I was carrying in, and head straight over to him, running a hand through his hair, taking stock of him.

"Yeah, Daddy. Fine."

I look over to Chris. "These two were fighting, and I had to spank them."

"Jake, Dean…"

Cas hears the tail end of that sentence, as he comes in the door. "Dean? What's this I hear, after I told you to behave?"

"I, Papa, Father," he corrects when he sees just how displeased Castiel is with him. "Yes, sir." Dean hangs his head. There's no point in saying anything, he's in for it with Cas, and he knows it.

Michael, who came in the door the same time as Cas, and Clyde did, gets wind of the trouble, but it's not trouble regarding Dean he's overly concerned with, so he doesn't say anything, and stays put.

"I'll meet you in the office young man. Go."

Dean doesn't hesitate, he's gone. Jake understands what's going on, and he begins to worry about himself. "Now Daddy, Papa already took care of everything—said I was forgiven."

"Come, you. You need a nap anyway."

I tug him up the stairs and into our room. "Take those off, you're not sleeping in jeans," I tell him.

He does as instructed, but he's weary, wondering what I've got to say about him and Dean misbehaving while we were gone. "What happened, Jake?"

He doesn't bother with trying to step around it. "Dean and I were antagonizing each other all day. We destroyed Gramma's kitchen in food-related combat."

"Jake."

"I'm sorry. We were thoroughly punished."

"I'll be the judge of that. C'mere." I pull him to me and over my knee once he's got his jeans off.

"Ah, hell, please Dallas. I was already spanked."

"And looks like you haven't learned a thing," I say laying in a couple smacks.

"I have, really. Ow!"

"You're still using naughty words and—"

"Hell? That's a naughty word?"

"In my book it is, and my book's the one that matters. This barely looks pink."

"What? Impossible. It was red earli—ow!"

I continue my hard, sure rhythm on his ass. "I'll be good, I'll be so good, I swear!"

"You'll swear, huh?"

"That's not what I—I won't swear, I'll have the cleanest mouth you ever did see-eee—ooow!"

I continue, until he's a color worthy of his behavior, but also to a point where I think this lesson will stick for longer than a minute. Dean's likely getting much worse than this, Jake should consider himself lucky. When I'm done, and I get him situated in his boxers, and comfy pajama pants, the pout on his face is monumental. I can't help laughing a little. "Oh c'mon cowboy, you earned that."

He flops onto the bed, on his stomach, and stuffs his head in a pillow, not wanting much to do with me, or so I think for a moment, but I get an inkling of a feeling and I decide to lay down beside him. "Jake, c'mere."

He flips around so fast, I barely see it, and he's clinging to my torso. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

I give him a good squeeze, chuckling a little at how adorable he is. "You'll be a good boy now, won't you."

"Oh yeah. I surely will."  
~**~  
Papa is reminding me of Darth Vader, more than I am comfortable with. I knew he wasn't going to be pleased, but this is a little more than I bargained for. "I'm sorry, Father, I, look it got out of hand—"

Papa puts his hand up, forestalling anymore excuses from me. He's leaned against Grampa's desk with his arms crossed, and still wearing the nice clothes he wore to the club, but he ditched his signature trench coat, upon heading into the office. I'm seated before him, pretty much just awaiting my doom at this point. "I have been lenient Dean, have I not?"

"You have, sir." He has. Especially with him being on edge like he has been.

"I asked you to behave like an adult—does this have to do with Old Dean?"

I do consider, momentarily, saying yes. At this point, he'll believe me, but I'm not sure if that's going to make things better or worse. "No, sir. This was all me."

His hopeful look, transforms to utter disappointment. "Then we're done talking. I'm going to punish you, and you're going to behave like a—"

_He was totally going to say 'angel' there, I just know it._

"—you're going to behave like a proper Winchester. Undo your pants please, and put your hands on the desk."

Papa begins taking his belt off, and I probably turn white. It's not his favorite thing to do with me, actually, and it doesn't even hurt near as much as anything wooden, but it has become a symbol of how disappointed in me he is. And hey, he can make it pack a sting I won't soon forget.

I do as instructed, not looking forward to this in the least for a number of reasons, one which includes the fact my ass is not yet cooled from Uncle Chris's handy work. The number he gives me makes me tense a little—it's not too many, but it's a lot—and then he starts in with sharp, precise strokes that have me regretting disobeying his clear and stern warning, or well, warnings if we're honest.

It hurts, and I do have to ask for a break. "Pa-papa, sir, can I please have a break?"

"Of course, Dean."

I take a breath, and it's amazing how you go from feeling like it's too much, to only the faintest of stinging. I mean, don't get me wrong, there's stinging, but the intensity is down several notches from a second ago. "It wasn't even red when I started," he comments.

Not even…! It was too. I'm wise enough not to say it though. But alas, I know my ass can have the tendency to return to its fantastic-self with wolverine-like-healing-speed, which is not always a benefit for someone like me who has the potential to receive multiple spankings.

"You ready to finish up, Dean?"

"Yes, sir." I reeeeaaaallly don't want to, but I can do this. The last few are always the most special, read, fucking hurt-y.

At long last he's done, and my ass it beat—figuratively and literally. I'm not sitting on this, anytime soon. I stand, and fuck stoicism, I rub the hell out of my ass. "Owwww, Papa."

"Pull those up, and sit. We're not done."

What did I just say? But there wasn't a choice given, so I return my clothes over my throbbing ass, and carefully sit on my searing butt. There's a lot of wincing, and it’s the least comfortable thing I can imagine. "Yes, sir?"

He doesn't begin right away, instead taking a moment to look me over, and make sure I'm all right. And I am. I feel fucking fine. Fucking great, actually.

"Why aren't you crying?"

"Should I be?"

Quiet again, as his lips twist like he might be figuring out a puzzle. I'm the puzzle. "I suppose not necessarily, but Dean— _you_ —often cry at some point during a spanking like that. Not because of the pain per se, because of how disappointed you know I must be to bring out my strap."

"I-I-I do feel horrible Papa, just because I'm not crying doesn't mean I don't." That makes my lip wobble some, and yeah, I, well I often do cry from something like that. I did feel his disappointment, and I'm sorry, but I didn't cry.

At my lip wobble, he comes to me and tugs me up from the cushy, leather chair. We squeeze each other. "I know Kiddo, I was just worried for a second there that maybe, well it's true it's not always, perhaps it's simply you didn't get there this time, and that's fine. I know you're sorry, and that you'll behave."

I pull away to look up at him. "Boy will I."

"Okay," he says, but he still seems concerned. He kisses my crown. "I love you, Dean." No on else would probably notice it, but I do because he's my papa; now he's got a wobble going on. I decide not to mention it.

"You got anymore scolding for me? Or can I go play with Michael?"

It takes him a minute to come back from whatever thought he was lost in. "It's may I, and yes you may, just make sure to tell your daddy you're still alive." He squeezes me again, and I hear a bit of a sniffle—a sniffle I also don't mention.

I was the one that was supposed to be crying after this meeting, but it ended up being Papa. How fucking weird. Things have really gone sideways around here.


	52. There's Something About Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter and I've got more on the way. We are going to slowly move back to the plot by next chapter, so it will get more exciting, but my muse has decided to take its time--so don't expect publish worthy in that, I'm gonna veer from the plot here and there, but I promise to distract everyone with spankings. Sadly not in this chapter, but I don't think anyone will ever say this story is short on spankings! 
> 
> Some Personal Mock News: I got some new bunnies! I had wanted to since Chester; it's not to replace anyone, but it is a little bit because I know my other two buns are elderly and on their last years; I won't be able to handle anymore bun passings without some new ones hanging around. The new buns are Alvin and Charlotte and they are most adorable things! Only 14 weeks old.

"I see you're alive, pumpkin. Where's your papa?"

I love Daddy, but I'm super jonesing for Michael right now. And besides, I see no after spanking muffins or treats. "He's still back in Grampa's office. He was kinda acting funny."

"Funny? How do you mean?"

I shrug.

Daddy sighs. "Not helpful." Daddy might be irked at me too; I'm also not seeing any inclination to an after spanking round of cuddles. Not yet anyway. He might be deciding if he needs to spank me too first. "I'll go check. Meanwhile, be on your best behavior my boy, or I'm next in line." He means for a spanking, if anyone's confused, and if you are, what story you been following?

He doesn't bother waiting for an answer, and I'm just glad to be alone with Michael. Feels longer than it should. I look over at him shyly. He's sitting at the table, tea in front of him. "C'mere, Duck."

My smile's as bright as my ass probably is right now, as I head straight over to him. He pulls me in between his legs, and I'm staring down at him, our noses touching, before I kiss his soft lips. "I missed you."

"Missed me? I was gone for a total of three hours, in which time you managed to earn yourself two spankings."

"I maintain I still had time to miss you, even with how busy I was. Wait, are you planning on spanking me too?"

"For what? goofing off with Jake? I wasn't here to be annoyed by that, I don't care, other than that I feel you should be more respectful, but I trust your father dealt with that."

Did he ever. "Well you never know—Papa sure did and he wasn't here."

"He's also been worried about you, an amount I've seldom seen, and he's asked you to behave yourself more times than he usually does before bringing his hammer down."

"Well um, I know you're worried too."

"And I've spanked you when you've stepped out of the lines I've set. Is this your way of asking for a spanking?"

"What? No. No siree! I'm done with spanking for today."

He smirks. "If you behave yourself, you are."

"I will, sir."

"Heard that before, though the 'sir' is a nice touch."

I am going to behave. Exhibit A, I want to ask him to have sex, but he's instilled a sex-ban, which he's enforcing—absolutely no leeway, yet here I am, not asking, even though I think it's unfair as hell. "Michael will you—look I know you said no sex, but is cuddling allowed?"

I get a rare, genuine smile from Michael. "Cuddling is allowed, Duck."

**

"Cas?" I knock, but I don't wait for permission to enter like I should. I find my husband perched on Clyde's desk, staring at the wall.

He looks over when I call him. "Oh, Sam. Yeah."

"Cassy, what's going on?"

"Nothing, I'm probably overacting, I—"

"—Cas, you're scaring me."

"Dean didn't cry."

"When you spanked him? Dean doesn't cry a lot of times. Chris said neither of them cried when he spanked them, and he spanked them good."

"Dean usually cries when _this_ happens though, Sam." He points to the belt still across his desk. "Today, he should have cried. Not that I wanted him to, but that's what _should_ have happened."

It takes me a minute to see where he's going with this, but I figure it out quick. "You think he's not our Dean anymore, or at least, you think he's less our Dean, and more Old Dean, don't you?"

"Well don't you? Old Dean doesn't have the same care for me, the spanking wouldn't have affected him like it affects our Dean."

"Cas, I love you, and I disagree. I stand by my earlier assessment—he's all our Dean."

He considers what I've said, because Cas respects my opinions on—

"—and I say you're wrong. He's slipping away from us, Sam."

Or.

Cas usually respects my opinions on Modlifying; right now, he's a worried Papa Bear. I tread carefully. "Okay, if you think that, what do you propose we do?"

"If I knew, I would have done it by now, Sam. I was hoping for your opinion."

 _Now_ he wants my opinion. "I wish I had one for you, Cassy, but other than keep an eye on him, I don't know that we can control Old Dean."

He's not appeased in any way. "Maybe I should stay an extra few days?"

"If you feel that's best, Cassy, but Dally will be with us. You know we'll take good care of him."

He nods. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I wish the angel were staying."

I have to fight the corners of my lips from forming a smile. "You know, as much as you might not like this, Old Dean is good protection for Dean."

"You're right: I don't like that. But I guess it's true."

I try putting my arms around Cas, even if he's like stone right now. It takes a moment, but he does relax. "I want a Skype call every day," he orders, like we don't pretty much do that anyway when he's away. If Cas isn't insisting, Dean is, or I'm missing him and call him again at night while Dean's asleep.

"Of course, Cassy. Every day."

"I want a full report of the day—anything, at all, whatsoever that could potentially be something off, or Old-Dean-like."

"Yes, sir."

He sighs. "Is this our new normal, Sam? Am I going to have to get used to Old Dean? He decide to move back in or something?"

I squeeze him. "I don't know Cas." And I don't, even if I suspect that the Old part of Dean has resurfaced for a reason, but no use in getting Cas riled up any further than he already is, on my unsupported theories. "I do know we should have some family time before you leave on Saturday. How about a big dinner? Fried chicken and dumplings? A little singing, a little dancing—it'll be fun." We don't have to have a new normal. We can make Old Dean part of our old normal.

"Yeah, okay Sam."

Cas is my rock. And while the pressure rocks have to live under can make them diamonds, it can also crush them. This is another one of those times where I need to do my thing for him, where I support him, but ensure he still feels on the top. It's not just his ego at stake. He's got great sense of responsibility to his family. It's up to us to accept that he's going to tighten up his ship, and be acting particularly cautious, even sometimes obnoxious.

And doing things for him, things that make it seem like he's doing things for me. And I know just what else I'll do for him too.

**

There's a knock on the door, and I realize I fell asleep. "Dals? C'n I come in?"

"Yeah, baby."

Jake peeks up sleepily, when Chris comes in. "Mmmmph," he complains.

Chris slops himself on the bed next to Jake, which causes the bed to bounce a little, and Jake to groan more. "Papaaaa…"

"Chris," I say reaching out to give his bum a whack. I don't have good leverage from this position, so it's not a hard whack, but my aim is true, he laughs.

"Sorry, Dals. I knew he was awake though, or Ida been quiet and careful."

"How could you know that?" It's dark in the room, and I knew that, but it's because I've been with him the last while.

"I could hear him moaning from down the hallway. Our boy ain't quiet." Chris reaches out to scratch Jake's back. "He's a little warm."

"Yeah, a little." It began the last hour, I've been trying not to stress about it.

"I'm right here. No need to talk about me like I'm not," Jake says.

"Hush, you," Chris tells him. "What should we do?" That's for me.

"How about y'all go downstairs and talk? You're both so loud."

I doubt he actually wants us to leave him. "We can do that Jakey, but how about asking a little nicer, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir."

"You really want us to leave? We can?" I try.

"Noooooo," he whines. "Just please be a little quieter? Papa's right, I'm not asleep, can't sleep, but my head hurts."

"Of course, sweetheart," I say.

"Yeah, sorry Jake-a-roo."

We wait a bit, the three of us in silence, Chris still scratching Jake's back. "This," I answer to Chris's question. "We'll just do this, and I'll get up and make him some of Nana Colt's headache tea in a bit."

"How many 'Nana Colt Teas' are there?" Jake says in a way that sounds like complaining.

I know the real reason he's complaining anyway, so I go to that. "I won't be gone long. I'll wait 'till you fall asleep to go make it."

"What if I don't fall asleep?"

See?

"You will, baby boy."

And I'm right. An hour later, he's out, and I slip out of the room to take care of the tea. I'm only half-surprised to learn Claire has a selection of herbal ingredients. "Well, having Sam and Dean here inspired that one. Sam was always having to run out for this, or that, so I suggested to Clyde we make a special cupboard, and soon as I brought up the idea, he insisted. Anything for his grandson."

I don't get offended that she didn't say 'grandsons'. Dean's always had a special place in Clyde's heart. I know he loves Clarence, and I know he'll love Jake, but Dean is Dean and it's just the way it is. I understand it. I have a ton of nephews and nieces, but Dean's always been my favorite. Partly because I helped raise him, but also because he's Dean.

When I return, the bedside light is on, and Chris has a cloth on our boy's forehead. While I'm nervous as hell he's not feeling well, knowing full-well it's the Modlenol, I'm glad he's not simply knocked unconscious this time—that seems worse somehow, even with the bright side of him not remembering anything, I like him to be able to tell me how I can help him.

"You feelin' poorly, darlin'?" I ask him, setting his tea on the bedside table.

"You left," Jake accuses.

I climb back in with him, and he latches on, Chris takes the cloth off his head as he turns. I brush his hair, which is damp with sweat, off his brow and kiss his forehead. "Don't leave me again, Daddy." It's almost a mumble, but I make it out.

"My poor boy. I won't leave you. We'll send Papa for stuff."

"Not him either."

Jake can't see Chris smiling behind him, but I can. "Then how we supposed to get you stuff, huh?" I ask.

"Modern technology. You can text someone." I can feel him smiling against me.

In another scenario, I might give him a light swat for his cheekiness, but right now, I'll give him anything he wants—no matter how he asks or demands it. I laugh. "Okay, Jakey. I want you to try to go back to sleep though."

"I've been trying. Can we go downstairs? This is futile. I need fresh air."

I look to Chris, he's got no suggestions. Fresh air's not such a bad idea. "Drink all the tea, and we'll see how yah, are."

"Yes, Daddy."

**

"Dean Bean, sweetheart, will you run this up to Jake and Dally for me?"

Dean Bean _and_ sweetheart? I must be forgiven. He's laying it on kinda thick though, which makes me suspicious. Maybe he feels bad about the no after spanking hug—that's a must in our family. Sure there are times it's forgotten, or overlooked, none of us are perfect, but it's usually made up for at some point. "Sure, Daddy." Regardless, I'm still totally doing whatever the fuck he asks. I don't want Daddy on my bad side—that's never a good thing. "You wanna come, Michael?"

"Actually, Dean, I need to speak with Michael."

Oh I see. He's getting _rid_ of me. What the hell's going on around here?

None too pleased, I grab the tray and head up. "Um, Uncle Dal? I've got no hands to open the door," I say, once I'm outside.

Uncle Chris opens the door to admit me, he looks worried and I see why. Jake doesn’t look so good. Uncle Chris takes the tray and sets it on the edge of the bed, while I head over to Uncle Dal's side. "Don't look at me Dean," Jake whines, cuddling further into Uncle Dal. I know his request has nothing to do with his feeling poorly, but rather the affection he's demanding and receiving from Uncle Dal. I guess it's time for me to be big cousin. Yes, yes, I said that. I did a lot of thinking after that spanking from Papa, and I chatted it all through with Michael while we cuddled. He said a lot of things that made sense, and I don't know if it's because he's all maudlin about leaving, but he shelved some of his Michael Brand Cynicism (key word, some), and was there for me. It's inspired me, at least for the moment. I'm sure later, Jake and I will be back to our usual, bickering-selves.

"It's okay to cuddle with your daddy Jake. In this family, it's best you gets used to being seen getting and giving affection—it happens a lot." I look to Uncle Dal. "You want me to get Daddy up here?" He looks like he could uses some more help up here.

"Maybe in a bit, Half Pint. Thanks for bringing up the soup."

"No problem, Uncle Dal. Happy to help."

As I head down the stairs, I'm thinking about poor Jake, and wondering what I looked like to Papa and Daddy when I was going through this—man, they must have been so worried. Imagine Papa!

Speaking of, I'm stopped by Papa at the bottom step, that is, if you can call the wall standing there Papa. And really, you can't, this wall is better known as Father. I know right away he's got his concerned look on, and that I'm not in trouble, though it never hurts to make sure. Father is a whole different guy from Papa, who's soft and cuddly, yet stern. _Father_ is another kind of force. He's a strict disciplinarian when you've broken a rule, and also when he's concerned. I don't know what I've done to concern him in the past couple hours since he's spanked me, but I have.

Daddy's explained _Father_ to me often in effort to save me from the trouble I got myself into when I was younger, and had a harder time recognizing. Daddy claims even young-me had a sixth sense for it, but that pre and early teen me had the harder time recognizing because of some of my stubborn ideas on what was fair and what wasn't.

"If you want to talk fair," Daddy would say, "let's talk about the hard work it is to be your father and carry all the weight and responsibility he does." He never did take kindly to some of my opinions on Father, and he was right. I was just being a brat. Even a spoiled one I'd say.

Eventually I learned to heed Daddy's sage advice (most of the time). When Papa is Father, there's protocol. I act accordingly.

"Am I in trouble, Father?"

"No. But I'd like you to come with me please, son." He turns on his heel, his favorite trench coat flaring, as he heads out the door. I follow, surprised when he heads to the Impala, even more surprised when he gets into the passenger seat, and doesn't ask for the keys. _Guess I'm driving wherever it is we're going._ I open the unlocked door, and slide in, still feeling all the places on my ass where I was spanked earlier. Not all the spots I feel are from Papa either—Uncle Chris got some good ones in on my sit spots.

The smell of leather hits me in a way that's different; it's a new, yet old way, filling me with the nostalgia of times long passed. I start her up, and the feeling of it hits me, hits _Dean_ , all the Dean I am. I'm hit with the glimpse of a memory I can't see, only feel, of a Dean, and a someone else sitting shotgun. "Where to, sir?"

He looks like he hasn't decided yet, which is unusual. "How about that burger place? Let's go there."

I think about mentioning the cookout Daddy's working on, but he probably knows, and besides, I could go for a burger, so I head to my favorite burger place. Father is quiet the whole way, staring out the window. For some reason, I really notice his trench coat now; crisp, with the lapels splayed open enough to see the blue tie underneath, the arms bunched just a little, framing his muscled body just so. My father, he's almost always dressed for work. I wonder if that will change when he retires? I doubt it. His brow is settled in consternation. Whatever he's contemplating has even his _face_ trying to solve the dilemma.

When we arrive and I stop the car, he doesn't immediately exit, he reaches his fingers to idly play with the latch of the glove compartment, and he opens it.

"Should we go inside?" I ask, in case he's forgotten where he is.

"Oh, yes. Sorry, Dean." He shuts the glove compartment and the Impala's passenger door sounds heavy when he opens it, as I follow him inside. This isn't the first conversation we've had in a diner, or even this diner, alone together. Both my parents made sure I got alone time with each of them, so we've been here just to shoot the shit, or rather, _Papa_ and I have. You don't 'shoot the shit' with Father.

We take our usual Winchester booth – I also made sure to use this booth when I came with Michael – and the server's there to take a drink order right away. "We'll also have the usual, Gladys," Father tells her, ordering for me, and she knows what to bring us. Papa and Daddy have been coming here since they were kids, and so have I. "Dean," he starts, once she's gone. "I'm trying to figure out if I should cancel my work trip."

I'm shocked. It's not something he hasn't done before, but it takes a lot. Daddy can handle most anything. "Cancel your work trip? Why?"

"Dean?" He's not talking about me Dean, even though I'm that Dean too, according to Daddy. He means Old Dean. And let me tell you, I'm getting about sick of Old Dean being brought up.

**Why would you be sick of me? I'm a peach.**

_Not now dude._ If ever he wanted to convince my father he's his own separate being, getting me to talk to myself is a great way to do it.

"Uh, yeah?" I want to say 'present', like we do in school, like I'm accounted for.

He twists his lip. "Sorry. I thought… never mind. What do you think about my thought? Do I need to stay here with you?"

I'm proud that he's asking for my input. Father doesn’t ask just anyone for their input. Of course his say is the final say, but our input (the family's) weighs heavily on his decision. "I'd love that. I don't like it when you go away; never have. I wish you never had to go away." That makes him smile. "But I'm okay, really. I don't _need_ you to stay. It's just a want."

He sits back, and stares at me a moment, then he folds his hands together on the table. "Dean, I've often told you how much you inspire me to grow. How when I don't know what to do, I figure it out because I need to, for you. That's worked your whole life, and we've had some pretty challenging times, I would say. We've figured out how to live with angels, we traversed the difficulties of Modlenol, we've even figured out _demons_ together, for God's sake," he says, making the parts about angels and demons too quiet for others to hear. "But I'm coming up blank when it's figuring out what to do about another part of you, the deepest, oldest part of you, resurfacing and… " he trails off. Father – _Father_ —has tears in his eyes. "…and I'm terrified he's figured out a way back, that he wants to _be_ back like before."

Oh.

_Oh._

"Do you think Old Dean is going to take me away from you and Daddy?"

"I do." He wipes at the tears, running the edge of his finger along each lower lid. "I don't know what else to think, and I certainly don't know what to do about it."

It doesn't escape my notice, that now would be a great time for Old Dean to say _something_ so I can give my father assurance, straight from the horse's mouth. Of course he doesn't say anything, so I don't have much on offer. I am just a tad irked that Father thinks I'd go back on my promise. I know before all this mess, I considered vampire hunting with my uncles, so I get why he'd be suspect, but I promised I wouldn't hunt. Even the little thing I'm doing now isn't hunting, is it? No. It's just 'research', that's totally different from hunting. Pretty sure that's not hunting. Besides, I can't think of anything that would pull me back into hunting. None. "Have some faith in me, Father."

"I have every faith in you, son."

Right. It's Old Dean he's got no faith in. And while I'm fairly sure Daddy's theory is correct, that all the Deans are me, on occasion I wonder myself. Especially when I have to talk to him as if he's a separate entity. _Dean? A little help here? My father is having an internal conniption. This will affect you, you know._ And it will. The more Father is concerned, the tighter he tightens the bolts to the machine that is all of us.

I _feel_ a long, suffering sigh in my head. **You don't get it, do ya, kid? You want assurance for him, but I can't give ya that."**

Wait, what?

_What the hell is going on?_

**I… that's the thing I'm trying to remember if yah'd quit naggin' at me, maybe I would.**

He's quiet after that, fucking pissed at me, and now I'm wishing he'd stayed quiet in the first place. I do my best not to let my feelings about that little slip of information show on my face, which is something that's become easier of late.

Suddenly, my father smiles; the tension leaves his body, and I know Papa has returned. "I'm going to do that—have faith in the son I raised. Whatever you have to do, you'll do the right thing."

I can't help it. When I'm given that kind of praise by Papa, _or_ Father, I'm three years old again, my veins flood with giddy endorphins, and I light up head to toe. "Thank you, Papa. I w-w-won't let you down." I fucking stutter I'm so delighted.

He nods a firm nod. "I know."

**

When we arrive back, somehow Daddy can smell the burger place on us. "Castiel Winchester, I can't believe you. Did you take him for a burger before the big dinner we're making?"

Papa is a bit scared, and it's a kinda amusing to see him sputter. With the look Daddy's giving him, I'm super fucking glad Papa's getting blamed and not me. "Dean's never had any problem eating a lot, Sam."

I decide to help Papa out; it's never a bad idea to earn brownie points. "I can Daddy. I'll still eat a bunch."

Daddy rolls his eyes skyward. "You two. Well, go wash up and get ready to eat again." He flips the dishtowel he's holding over his shoulder, and turns back to the oven to stir the gravy. Papa and I look at each other, happy we seem to have side-stepped trouble. I remember one very quiet dinner in particular, when Papa took me for ice cream before dinner. Daddy wouldn't speak to Papa more than was necessary. He was careful not to be rude, or disrespectful, but he wasn't as friendly to Papa as he usually was.

Papa heads off, but I hang around for just a second. "Um, Daddy?"

"Bit busy here, Dean. Didn't I tell you to wash up?"

"Gosh darn it, Daddy. What's a boy got to do to get his after spanking hug around here?"

He turns, and I can see the horror on his face. "Oh? Didn't Michael do that for you? Oh honey I'm sorry, come here."

He opens his arms and I'm run to them. After a long day of turmoil everywhere, it feels good to have the safety of Daddy. He offers a different kind of comfort from Papa, his own kind, but it's a kind I need. "He did Daddy, but you're supposed to, too."

"I'll admit, I was a bit cross with you, but I'd never hold affection hostage, you know that. I decided to let Michael this time, since your father needed me."

"Not because you were deciding whether or not you should spank me too?"

He laughs. "I was doing that, but even then, you know I'd pause that thought to give you love. You also know that spanking is love in this family." He pulls back to look at me. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind." He squeezes me tight. "You're so loved Dean—all of you."

"Are you gonna spank me?"

He pulls away and ruffles my hair. "I should—that was awful in Gramma's kitchen."

When he picks up his wooden spoon, I back away. "Now Daddy, Papa and Uncle Chris gave me pretty decent spankings."

He reaches past me to use the spoon to stir the gravy—thank fucking god. "They did, and I'm sure they did, which his what's saved you a third. Now go wash up."

"Yes, sir."

After I've washed up, I head out to the deck, where Grampa and Michael are having a beer together. I'm jealous of the beer—I could go for one after that intense conversation with Father—but I don't dare ask. Papa must notice. "You can have one Dean."

"Hot dog!" I grab one from the cooler and sit with Michael and Grampa. Michael gives me that look I know is saying how spoiled he thinks I am. Grampa's just happy to see me.

"Can't say I'm sad this had interrupted your summer plans, Dean. I'm glad you'll be staying a little while longer."

"Me too, Grampa."

To our surprise, the newest Winchester family appears. "His fever seems to have gone down after Nana Colt's Tea," Uncle Dal explains. "Maybe it wasn't the Modlenol? Either way, we thought since it's the last night before everyone starts leaving, we'd come down for dinner and fresh air."

Daddy doesn't look convinced about the Modlenol part, but he understands Uncle Dal's reasoning. Besides, Uncle Dal looks worn out, and Jake being down here for us to help with, is likely the only way Uncle Dal will take five. Jake's not looking great either, but he surprises me by sitting down near me instead of his parents. Uncle Dal's watching him skeptically, until Daddy grabs his arm. "Come help me, Dallas."

"But, Sammy."

"He'll be fine. He's got a pile of Winchesters surrounding him. Come." Daddy means Michael's a Winchester too.

Uncle Dal's not pleased about it, but he goes with Daddy. Jake is super grouchy. "Oh good, you're drinking beer, and I probably can't."

"Definitely, can't," Uncle Chris pipes in.

"Ugh. This whole thing sucks. Why did I do this? It was my stupidest idea yet."

I know he doesn't mean that, but I'm still glad Uncle Dal's not here to hear him. Uncle Chris is less likely to take it personally. "Daddy'll bring you some juice I'm sure," he says, tousling his hair. Uncle Chris has the hat.

"I'm hope it's got vodka in it."

Uncle Chris ignores his churlishness, and sits near Papa, which is a place he can keep an eye on Jake, but maybe get a break from him; nobody blames him. Gramma's sipping on wine, not helping Daddy, which means he worked it so he could do everything himself. I'm sure that conversation will be interesting later—Daddy displeased about Papa feeding me before dinner, and Papa inquiring after why Daddy thought it would be okay to take on a big meal himself. After the bean snafu, Papa's had him on mild restriction for all that stuff anyway—it was an unspoken thing—but in general, Papa makes sure he doesn't extend himself on these trips. There have been many a time he has.

Grampa involves himself in a conversation with Michael about their time at the club (booooring!) and Michael reaches his hand to grab mine, while listening to Grampa intently, and making the appropriate responses. I decide to take on Jake, who's acting like one of my younger cousins. He's got his arms crossed, and is leaned back in his chair, looking at the ground like he wants to set it on fire. "What's with you?"

"I, I don't know Dean. I just feel mad and upset about everything."

I'm surprised by his honest answer. "Like, for no reason?"

"Well not _no_ reason, I don't like this getting younger bit, but even I have enough sense left to know I'm overreactin' some. I think the Modlenol's making me go crazy."

"I don't understand, I thought you wanted this?"

"I do. I just wish I could be young already. This stuff in the middle is for the birds."

"I can understand that. I don't think the Modlenol's making you go crazy though. I think it's just doing it's thing, only instead of making you _look_ young this time, it's just made your emotions younger—less mature anyway."

"How can that be? I wasn't even out this time, not really. I slept a bit, but it wasn't that Modlenol coma-type sleep."

I shrug. "Daddy keeps saying everyone reacts differently."

When Uncle Dal returns, he does bring juice for Jake, and Jake lights up a little toddler-like. "How you doing, Jakey?"

"Fine Daddy. Maybe a bit hungry?"

"I'm just helping Uncle Sammy bring out the dinner. We'll get you some food real quick."

"I hear you saying that Dallas, but I know Sam made the whole meal by himself. How much he pay you to say that?" Papa says, and everyone laughs.

Daddy comes out, carrying a large tray of home-fried chicken and places it on the table. "Dig in," he says, as Papa pulls him into his lap. "Cas!"

Papa whispers something into Daddy's ear that makes him blush, but he smiles and kisses Papa and I guess he's not in too much trouble, or if he is, it's the kind of trouble he likes, and I don't want to think about it beyond how sweet it is that my parents love each other so much. Much as it can gross me out at times, I wouldn't change them for anything. I squeeze Michael's hand. "You going to eat?" I ask. Michael doesn't always eat with us. He tries to often as he can, but sometimes it's things he can't choke down.

"Of course," he says looking me over in a soft way, and using his free hand to brush my hair back. "I eat with you whenever you like, Duck."

I smile. He's trying to be sweet, even though I know that's not true. "You're like Daddy and won't eat anything with HFCS, and there have been plenty of meals you've skipped out on."

"I have choked down HFCS for you," he says scowling a little. "Do you not recall the Donut World fiasco?"

Oh yeah. A Donut World finally opened in our small town when Michael and I were kids. Daddy and Papa took us, and Daddy actually let us eat more than one donut. "Oh yeah, those."

"Yes those. I ate two and a half of those horrid things."

"That was a long time ago, Michael."

"There were other times. Do I need to list them all?"

"No, I get the point. But you do refuse to eat sometimes."

He twists his lips, because I've made a point. To make his own, he grabs a piece of chicken out of the bowl and takes a bite. "Mmmm. Delicious."

I roll my eyes, but fondly—he's trying to be sweet. Everyone joins Michael, and Papa helps Daddy bring out the rest of the food. It's a great last-night-in-Texas-meal together, well, last night we're all together, since some of us are staying and some of us are going. Jake actually makes it to bonfire time, where he sits next to Uncle Chris, while Uncle Dal plays us some sing-a-long music.

Eventually though, we all end up toward bed, and when I think it's safe enough, I creep into Michael's room. "What are you doing in here?"

"Isn't it obvious? Shove over." I climb in the bed with him and stuff my cold toes in between his thighs.

"How can your toes be that cold in the dead of summer? I think you need your hormones checked."

"My hormones are fine Michael. Ahhhhhh." I snuggle into him and he relents putting his arms around me. "I don’t want you to go home."

"Me neither. I've had, fun," he says like 'fun' is a foreign word. "This isn't as awful as I thought it would be."

"Whatever, Michael. You knew you'd have a good time with my family."

He doesn't respond, and neither of us talks for long enough, I start to get sleepy against Michael's chest. 

**

He's asleep.

The right thing to do would be to scoop him up and carry him back to his bed, but it's driving me crazy that I have to leave him, and I just can't make myself. I make plans to take him back in an hour or two, and for now, enjoy his soft breathing, and stare at him like a creepy vampire lover.

Dean and I shouldn't be a part, not for any reason. The thought makes me angry, and I squeeze him too hard. That wakes him. "…mmmph, Michael? Whoa, how long I been asleep?"

"Not long."

"Wake a guy up. I don't want to fall asleep. I want to stay up all night with you."

"You're going to sleep, Dean."

"Spoilsport," he says, but he cuddles back in.

"The last thing your father needs is you cranky right before he leaves, doesn't he leave in the morning?"

" _Late_ morning. I won't be cranky. Hey, do you remember when we managed to stay up all night as kids?"

"Vividly."

"We were in so much trouble," he says laughing.

"Which is the reason I can't imagine why you insist on repeating such a venture."

"I'm not afraid of a little spanking."

I roll my eyes. "Yet it never seems that way before you're about to receive said spanking. If you haven't been spanked enough today, I'm happy to help you out with that."

"I don't _need_ anymore spankings, but feel, my ass is still warm."

Before I'm aware of what's happening, he's got my hand and is shoving it down the backside of his pajama pants. "Dean, what the… oh yeah, it is still warm." And oh god, it's warming up my cock. I yank my hand out and push him away so he doesn't notice, but he's already noticed. "Remember the rules Dean."

I expect whining, in the least complaining, or pouting, but that's not what I get. Dean's suddenly cool, and suave and his eyes have changed; there's something about Dean. I squint at him. "Dean?"

He smiles a cocky smile, and leans toward me such that I lean back. Then, he pounces and I'm suddenly being kissed. It's too much and it's been too long since we've partaken in kisses like this one, and the phrase 'I'm only human' comes to mind briefly, except I'm not 'only human', not in any sense of that meaning, even if I tend to have some human-like character traits. I kiss him back, but it's clear I'm not kissing him; he's kissing me. I don't think he's going to allow us to stop, even if I try. Of course, I'm strong enough to do it, but not without hurting him if he fights, and I won't hurt him.

The only true power I have over Dean is that which exists between us by way of contract; negotiated over years of getting to know one another. Instinctively I know, none of that exists with the version of Dean kissing me.

I give myself over completely, letting him slide his tongue into my mouth as he climbs on top of me. That ignites something raw in me and I kiss him back now, letting him know I'm not going to stop him, I'm all in. I don't think about it, and I yank at his leg, which pulls him down, so I can flip us over, and ravish him properly. Once I've done it, I realize what I've done and I fucking pause, because 'will there be the wrong kind of resistance'?

Familiar eyes are staring up at me. "Michael? I thought you said no to this kind of stuff."

I'm squinting my eyes again. "Dean?"

"Yeah. That's my name."

"But you, I, hmmmm." What do I say here? I thought he was there. I thought all the Deans were my Dean and all that other nonsense that's been spouted for forever. But was I just kissing Old Dean? Old Dean on his own without my Dean?

"Why'd you stop?"

Or maybe the question should be, 'do I say anything?' It's our last night. There's no hope of me getting to stay. This is what it is, and while normally I wouldn't care if it started an argument, tonight I don't see the point of it. I lean back and pull him to me as we were before. "I said no sex, remember?"

"You were just teasing me?"

"No, though I could if I wanted to, we were kissing Dean. Kissing doesn’t mean sex."

"Tell that to my cock, Michael." Now he whines. Now he's Dean. My Dean. I don't know what he was before, but I know what he is now. And also how to handle him.

"Tell you what, continue to behave on this one while we're here, and I promise you an amazing day of sex when you get back."

"But that's soooooo far awaaaaaay."

"How about I give you an amazing spanking when you get back instead?" I say patting his tender bottom.

"I'll take the sex," he says, yawning and cozying up to me. We're both quiet until he falls asleep yet again, and I'm left to wonder what happened. What's _happening_?

I don't know, but I do know I'd better figure it out quickly. Nothing is taking Dean from me. Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone figure out what Sam did for Cas ;) ?
> 
> What did Sam probably talk to Michael about?


	53. The One In Which We Say Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm (partially) sorry for reusing a chapter name (I think I used it in TW) but it fit here too so... and besides, I love anything to do with Winnie-the-Pooh. For those of you who aren't readers of Pooh, it's a typical A.A.Milne style thing :) 
> 
> Some of you got the answers to my questions! Good job! You'll get to see the answers here. 
> 
> Hope you like!

When Michael and I stumble downstairs in the morning, Papa is at the dinning room table, ready to leave, his suitcase down the hall and over by the door. I get the same feeling I've always gotten on the day he leaves; a gut-wrenching, empty feeling. I sit down with him. "I've changed my mind, Papa. Don't go."

I expect some kind of scolding. Odd as it may sound, that's what I was going for, there's something reassuring about pushing up against boundaries and having them push back at you. Only this time, Papa doesn't push back. "I'll stay, Kiddo. I can push my meetings back a few days and—"

"—you'll stay? Papa, that's not your line. You're suppose to tell me to behave myself and you'd better not find out otherwise—what's going on here?" Please tell me I'm having another nightmare.

Papa gets a look on his face I didn't want, an irritated look. "Quit messing around, young man. This is serious business." And somehow, though one might expect me to be upset with the sternness in his voice, I'm mostly happy because he's what I need him to be.

Daddy appears from the kitchen with coffee for Papa, and Gramma enters the dining room with Grampa looking like they just got back from their morning walk. "I say, I say, what's going on in here?"

 _Father_ , (boy did I miss that fucking cue) closes his paper and gives me a look, _that_ look that says I'm treading a finer line all the time. I guess this is what I wanted, but now I'm wondering why I wanted it? "Dean is messing around, and I'm about to give him a reminder as to why he should behave."

"Now, Castiel. The boy's having his world turned upside down here, he's bound to be a little off. I'll be here to make sure he behaves," Grampa says, and he doesn't even bother trying to hide the wink he gives me. Grampa's barely made sure I've behaved a day in my life. Not that he hasn't had cause to spank me, but I have to do something inanely dangerous, or something ridiculous in church to have that happen—he's strict about church. For regular stuff, he's surprisingly lenient. Well, with me I mean.

"All due respect Father, but somehow my confidence is not bolstered," my father says.

"Dean, come here for a moment please." That's Daddy, and just in time. Because I'm not keen on getting the spanking in front of everyone that was just implied (if my father was really going to spank me, I'd be over his knee by now, but I'm not, so there's at least a thread holding him back) I'm up quickly.

I bound into the kitchen, leaving Michael behind, who barely had the chance to sit down before I allegedly began causing trouble. "I didn't do anything, Daddy, I swear. Well, anything much."

"Sit there," he says getting me a cup of coffee, and I do. "You didn't do anything, well, you didn't do anything that would typically get you into the kind of trouble you just encountered, but you must have noticed the mood he's in?" Daddy leans against the counter, sipping his own coffee. Speaking of noticing things, I notice that beyond coffee, he's not doing anything else in the kitchen. Huh. _He's_ in trouble too. He loves puttering in the kitchen and making breakfast for everyone. He's notably not.

"I did Daddy, but I thought that was yesterday, I didn't catch onto this morning."

"Where you been, sweetpea? He's been like this for days, and that's not likely to stop any time soon."

"I'm sorry, Daddy, you're right. Memo received. I'll pull out my most exemplary behavior," for the next few hours, anyway. There's only so long I can behave Father-perfect.

"Sammy?" I jump at Uncle Dal's voice. "We havin' a meeting in here?"

"Sort of," Daddy says. "We're hiding from Cas a little."

"Yeah, he's on the warpath—he's giving Michael what for in there for I don't know what."

Poor Michael, but trying to save him now, would be like trying to rescue someone at the summit of Everest—a fruitless, suicidal mission. "How's Jake doing?" I ask.

"Much better this morning, but uh, I think he had some sort of strange change mental and emotionally without the physical changes. So uh, if everyone could keep that in mind?" He's looking mostly at me, and I deserve it after the food fight bit.

"Yes sir, Uncle Dal. I'm not stepping a toe out of line," ever again. No one's any fun around here since Old Dean showed up.

Jake comes sauntering in, looking fresh and clean and in a bad mood. "How long's a guy gotta wait for juice around here? The service used to be a whole lot better."

Uncle Dally turns eyes on him that I don't ever want turned on me. "Okay Jake, that's enough."

I almost can't believe _my_ eyes, when Uncle Dal doesn't even bother to take him some place private, instead putting a leg up on a chair, flipping Jake over it, and even pulling down his pajama bottoms to bare his ass, and begins laying down smacks to the skin that appears fully healed from yesterday. I'm old hat to this though, and I know just because it _looks_ healed, doesn't mean it is. I bet that spanking hurts some.

"You're going to be more respectful, my boy, or you can spend a lot of time looking that the ground, am I clear?" Uncle Dal says, not missing a beat on poor Jake's ass.

"Y-yes, Daddy. I'm sorry."

The spanking is short, but effective. Jake looks chagrined, and he's actually got a few real tears. I know while that spanking hurt some, it didn't hurt much either; it wasn't a nice spanking, but it was nowhere near what we got from Uncle Chris, and he didn't cry then. "Corner. That one," Uncle Dal says pointing to the portion of the kitchen closest to where I'm seated at the kitchen table. Jake looks about to refuse, but thinks better of it, doing as bid.

It's a common enough scene in our family, no matter the house we're at. The only reason I'm shocked as I am, is the amount of babying Jake's been getting from Uncle Dal. Guess he's taking a new approach.

Daddy gets some coffee for Uncle Dal, and the three of us together like we are, brings the nostalgia of days gone by. One of my favorite past times is lazy mornings in the kitchen at home, sipping coffee and talking about random shit, while the sun gets brighter and higher in the sky.

"Okay Jake, you can come out," Uncle Dal says after a time. Jake takes a big sniffle and turns around looking pitiful. "C'mere cowboy." Uncle Dal opens his arms, but Jake shakes his head.

"Don’t want you."

"Lordy be. How about Papa?"

"No." He wipes his eyes.

"Come see Uncle Sammy, Jake," Daddy says opening his arms.

Jake likes the idea, and heads over, climbing up on him. Daddy's a real big guy, so it's easy to make a home in his lap. Even I still can, but Jake, he's a bit smaller than I am, and although Uncle Dal says he's not changed physically, I think he's just been looking at him too long—he looks a little smaller, but I get what he means, it's not proportional to Jake's behavior.

Jake latches onto Daddy, and we continue our coffee-talk, only pausing when Uncle Dal gets up to pour Jake some juice, after he's asked politely this time. It's happy, and quiet, until Father pokes his head in the kitchen. "Dean, I'd like to speak with you a minute, please."

Aw fuck. I look to Daddy. "You don't have to be afraid of your father, Dean. He only wants to talk to you."

"Sam? You too," he says nocking his head toward the dining room.

That news makes him have a look on his face, I'm sure is the same as the look on my face. "Uh, Dal? You coming with us?" Daddy asks.

Uncle Dal laughs. "You'll be fine, Sammy. It's only Cas."

"Dallas? You too, c'mon you three. I've got to leave," Father calls, this time, not bothering to come back to the kitchen to tell us.

Uncle Dal's eyes go wide. He's chicken too, and I would laugh if I wasn't also called before the mad king. "C'mon Jake," Uncle Dal says.

"What? He didn't call me. Why do I have to go?"

"Because you're sticking with me this morning. C'mon. You can bring your juice."

Looking relieved, Jake does grab his juice; the four of us pile into the dining room. Gramma and Grampa are nowhere to be seen, it's just Uncle Chris, sitting up a little straighter than usual, and poor Michael who looks like how regular people must look when they've seen a ghost. I head straight to him, figuring he's the one who needs support this time. I'm used to Father. Not that he isn't, but he _just_ got an extra dose.

Father stands up, and anyone who was sitting instinctively does—he really knows how to grab a room. "I will be gone, likely, until you are all safely ensconced at home. Until then, everyone is on tight restriction. If someone is going somewhere, I want to know about it, though you may go back and forth from Colt Central and Winchester Central, freely. Anyone disobeying this directive will be met with swift discipline."

My father gets a round of, "yes, sirs" from each of us, who by the way, are now standing at military attention. Father nods and takes a deep breath. I can see now how tired he looks, he's wrought with worry; I decide to do something completely out of protocol, but he can spank me if he wants to after. I run to him and crush him with a hug. "I love you, Papa," I say quietly in his ear.

He wraps his arms around me and holds me in a solid way, and just like that, any annoyance he had with me is gone. "Love you too, Kiddo." He keeps his hold on me, as he continues his lecture. "Unless anyone has questions, I suppose this is goodbye for a bit."

"No questions, sir," everyone says together. That makes me smile. We've been a family so long, getting to know times like these so well (even Jake having caught on already), we're able to answer in unison, all of us with the same feeling that's a mixture of somber and, 'we'll take care of ourselves (somehow) until you get back.'

There is enough Top energy amongst us to get by without Papa, but only Papa has enough to deal with all of us. "Then I'm off." Papa says a goodbye to each of us, but drags Daddy to the front door with him for a more private goodbye.

Michael sits and pulls me into his lap. "Sit with me awhile, Duck?"

I laugh. "He's gone now Michael, but I'll keep you safe."

"Not funny. You were safely in there through the worst of it. Ask Christian."

No need to have my uncle recount the horrors; I don't doubt it. I run fingers through his hair and pull his head to me, planting a kiss on his forehead.

**

"How's this?" Cas says patting my bottom. He already knows. He saw it this morning, but the question makes him smile, so I'm happy for it, and to answer him. After all, I did _that_ for him.

"Sore, but nicely sore. You know I like things to remember you by."

"If I didn’t know any better, I'd say you seduced my ire on purpose." I'm not answering that, unless he makes me and he doesn't have enough time. "Regardless, break the rules and pay the price."

"Of course, Sir. I'm going to miss you, Cassy."

"I'm going to miss you too, Baby." Cas pulls me to him for a kiss, and grips me tight to his body. We had some wild goodbye sex last night, but this kiss seems to capture the essence of all the sex, and some. When we break apart, I'm breathing hard and so is he. We stare into each other's eyes like it's the summer of two thousand and one, and we're beginning 'Us' all over again. I have the flash of a memory, of him taking my hand and leading me into the rest of my life with him.

"Have a safe trip, and call me when you land?" I usually say it like a question, but he knows he'd better.

"Of course, Sam."

I catch Michael, when Dean heads off with his grampa to have a coffee with him on the deck. "How you doin', sugar?"

He's clearly annoyed at my asking. "Like I told you yesterday, fine."

I give him a look that says he'd better clean up his attitude. "I know you said you're fine, I just don't believe you."

He's shocked I'm saying it like it is.

"Can you blame me?"

He thinks about it. "No. But I am fine for the most part. Just the usual—as I said yesterday; I don't like being so far apart from Dean."

I'm sure he does believe he's fine. "I want a phone call Michael, every third night."

His eyes darken; angry. "That is completely unnecessary."

I keep my dark gaze fixed on him.

"Fine. Every third night, _sir_."

"Thank you, Corn Muffin. Now give me a hug goodbye."

"I'm not leaving for another few hours."

"I know, but I also know you'll want to focus on cannoodling Dean 'til you go."

"If I must," he says.

He pretends he's stoic and that he doesn't care, but I note that when he hugs me it's tight, and though I never want to let him go, when the time comes where it would be acceptable _to_ let him go, he's still holding longer, his grip getting tighter. I don't mention it; in fact I pretend not to notice, instead carrying on business as usual. "You make sure to say goodbye to everyone, y'hear?"

"I will, sir."

"We'll be home soon as we can."

He nods into my neck, not saying anything and we stay like that, until Dallas enters the kitchen with Jake. We pull apart.

"C'n I go outside with Dean?" Jake asks, sounding for all the world like a little boy. I see what Dally means, he sort of shifts back and forth between Big and Little.

"You may. Go'on," Dal says, and Jake takes off out the kitchen door and to the deck where Dean is with Clyde. "Are we gettin' Michael-hugs in here?" Dal says, not waiting for an invitation, and wrapping Michael into a crushing hug.

"You two are incorrigible," Michael complains, but resigns himself to the hugging.

"In the best of ways," Dal says. "C'mon Sammy, get back in here."

"What? No! He already hugged me."

I dive in, not missing an opportunity. Dallas and I are laughing, and Michael is pretending to be stone while we shower him with love. But he's not really as put out as he pretends to be. Once we break apart from him, I notice that while he may not be smiling, his eyes are just that much softer. "Have I been hugged the sufficient amount?" he asks, clearly wanting to get back to Dean.

"I dunno. What do you think, Dal? he been hugged enough?"

"Him maybe, but I don't feel very hugged."

"No. Ohhh, no you don-" It's too late. We're both already hug-tackling him. There's more laughter and more, and more as we repeat the process, until finally Michael does hug us both again properly, and he can't help smiling himself. I swear I even hear the smallest of laughs from him.

"Okay, you've been hugged appropriately. You may go," I tell him.

He heads off muttering something about how he's not going to miss fiascos like that, but he doesn't mean it. Dal and I look at each other, and we don't say anything, but we privately tell each other with our eyes, 'job well done.' Michael might be leaving us for a time, and while neither of us like it, we feel we've given him at least some amount of love to tide him over. "I'll call him too, Sammy. He is after all, my padawan," Dal says winking.

That's right. Clyde did ask Dal to mentor him, some. "Thank you Dally." I worry about Michael, but I feel comforted knowing he's got more than just me looking out for him.

Later

"Michael," Grampa says. "Someone's here for you. He's in the living room."

Michael tenses. When he does, it clicks for me, he hasn't been this tense in awhile. Being here, in our own world's enabled him to relax, but that's all over now. I bite my lip and stare at him, trying not to cry. It's going to be hard for us both, but I know stuff like this drives Michael mad in a way that's different from what I'll feel. I'll miss his Michael brand of solidness, but I've got others to help me out; he'll worry about me obsessively, without much to comfort him.

"Come I'll tell Tom I need a few extra minutes with you before he takes me home," Michael says, grabbing my hand, not willing to let me go yet.

We head into the living room, expecting Tom, but it's not Tom who's sitting there. On the couch is a genteel-looking angel, sitting up in the most perfect of ways like he's always ready for the king to walk in. He's wearing a formal suit—black jacket, and tie—and every strand of his light brown hair sits precisely, the bits of blonde glinting in the sun coming in from the window. His face is serious, but in his eyes shines the Ghost of Playfulness's Past.

Michael is surprised long enough, I catch the look on his face: He's scared. "Did I do some-," Michael clears his throat. "Uncle Gabriel, thank you for coming to get me." I've never seen Michael so nervous.

Gabriel stands up swiftly, straightening his jacket. "I know you were expecting Tom. He's busy, so your father sent me. I volunteered, actually. Get your things, I'll be outside." Gabriel doesn't bother using the door; there's a flapping of wings and he's gone.

Michael looks heartbroken. "I'm sorry Dean, he—" he didn't give _me_ the time of day.

"—no apology necessary. I've never been a favorite of angels."

That gets me a strange look. "How many angels have you met?"

"Several Michael. You know that. There's Tom for starters—"

"—Tom likes you."

Doesn't act like it. I don't say so. "I've seen plenty of angels at your place, coming and going, and they never give me the time of day—you know this, you have a perfect memory, what gives Michael?"

He looks me over critically.

I make a fed up sound. "Is this about Old Dean? Do you think I'm Old Dean right now?"

"Well? Are you?"

"I'm not Michael. I've encountered enough angels in this lifetime to know they don't care for me much."

"Fine. I suppose that makes sense." He considers that, and then, "I'd better get my stuff, he's not the patient sort."

Michael heads off upstairs where his suitcase is packed and ready to go. I told him Gramma wouldn't mind if he left it in the entryway, but he didn't want to clutter the place up, so he refused. This gives me the opportunity to watch Gabriel out of the window for a few moments. He doesn't appear to be doing anything, but I know Gabriel's an Archangel, he's probably good looking like he's doing nothing, when's he really doing everything.

Michael's back quickly. He's got his blue blazer back on now; he's dressed sharply, and god, I don't want him to go. The feeling overwhelms me, and the tears I thought I could hold back, I can't. I sob and let it all out. "I d-d-don't want you to go, Michael."

Michael's looking toward the window and at me. He seems to be making some kind of decision, and when he does, he pulls me to him and tugs me out of view of the window. "I know, Duck. I don't want to go either. We'll be together soon."

I sob into his chest, and he consoles me as long as he can, combing my hair with his fingers, and holding me close. "Did you say goodbye to everyone?" I say in a desperate attempt to keep him here a few minutes longer.

"I did. I even gave Nana Colt a call."

"Oh. Sounds like you've done everything then," I say, not letting him go.

"Dean, I'm sorry, I can't keep him waiting."

I nod and pull away, tears streaming down my face. "Go. Call me later?"

"We'll talk every chance I get," he says. He checks the window one more time, then leans in to press his lips against mine. It's not our most sensual kiss ever, but it's filled with deep love, and it makes parting a little less awful. "Goodbye, Duck."

He heads out the door and I walk out to the porch with him, and watch as he meets up with Gabriel. It must be in the middle of an eye-blink, because in one moment, I'm watching him walk off, looking back at me now and again, and in the next they're gone. 

Michael's _gone_.

Gone.

And that's when the terrible-awful feeling engulfs me like never before; irrationally, it feels like I'm never going to see him again, or at least this moment, this one right now is the chapter ending on the last amazingly-good moment we'll see for awhile. I stare at the empty spot where Michael was, the tears still streaming down my face, until I can't look anymore. I tell myself I'm crazy. I'll see Michael soon. I shut the door.

**

I think I'm going to go cry alone in my room for awhile, but as I pass by the Chally room, I hear thumping, and no it's not the sexual kind of thumping. It sounds more like something being thrown at a wall repeatedly. I knock.

"Come in." That's Jake.

He's alone and I was right, it's a ball, a tennis ball, and he's laying on the bed throwing it at the wall. I'm surprised to see him alone. "What happened to your parents?" I ask, coming into the room.

"They needed to go shopping, stuff for me apparently. I didn't feel up to going. I feel all over the place today."

"They left you alone?"

"Not quite. Your dad's looking after me. He's already checked on me like five times."

That does sound like Daddy. "And he didn't notice you throwing a ball at the wall?" Daddy would not approve of that.

"Just found it, over there," he says pointing to the closet.

I take a closer look. "Wait a minute, that's the ball Uncle Chris had signed by Nadel Federer, you'd better but that back dude."

"Fine." He slugs himself off the bed and returns the ball.

Jake looks awful. Not only does he look a bit beat up from all the changing, but this is affecting him mentally. "Come with me, Jake. Let's go hang out. I could use a friend."

That seems to perk him up a bit. We head downstairs, and I think I'm going to take him outside, but I'm stopped by the man I usually refer to as Daddy, but in this instance, he's the version of Daddy that happens when Papa goes away: Captain of the Colt Ship, Sam Colt, though it typically doesn't happen this soon. It's in his eyes mostly—they're set fiercely—but it's also in his body; there's a firmness to him that Daddy doesn’t usually have. Not that Daddy isn't firm, he is, but there's usually a cushy, soft middle. None of that's there now. I tread carefully.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Where do you two think you're going?"

"Outside, sir?" I say more like a question.

"Where outside?"

"Just for a walk around the perimeter? If that's okay?"

He looks us both over, and thinks about it. "An hour, and I want you both back for dinner," he says in a way that is not to be fucked with, and it's times like these I can see why all my aunts and uncles say 'how high' when Daddy says jump, and why my cousins treat him with the kind of respect I do Papa. It's not that I don't treat Daddy with respect, I do, but I also know I can get away with more from him (usually) and I try to. None of my cousins would dare. I'm not going to dare now.

"Yes, sir," Jake and I say.

Daddy stalks off, and we head outside. "Wow, he's something else when he's like that," Jake says.

He is. "Enough about him, talk to big cousin Dean, what's ailing you?"

"Modlifying. It's just not going well for me. It's like I can _feel_ the loss of my memories, and with whatever the fuck happened on this last round, it suuuucked."

"Can't disagree with you there—kinda does suck."

"Guess you can't remember how you got through this part?"

"Nope. But you can ask Daddy. I'll place bets it wasn't easy for me either. Sounds like you and I chased similar demons—figuratively anyway, I can't imagine we'd have been fighting the same demons this far apart."

That gets Old Dean riled up for some reason. **You really have forgotten how it works, haven't you kid? Guess that's what I wanted but, well never mind that.**

_Never mind, what?_

He ignores me as usual. **No wait, you're onto something, sorta. I, no, that's not… that's it!**

_What's it?_

**The same demons. You and Jake _are_ fighting the same demons. We have to talk to Crowley.**

Crowley is a name I know. _Crowley? No. Not even a chance. You can forget it. Not for any reason._

**I'll take matters in my own hands if I need to. My bets on me kid. Do what I'm saying, or this could get ugly.**

Wait, so now he's threatening me? _Try._

 **Fine. You're on kid.** I can hear him laughing a rough, Whiskey-Jack laugh, and he's quiet again.

Did I just get into a war with A Voice in my head?

I realize poor Jake's still talking to me, and I haven't heard a word he's said, I try to catch up. "—they've decided to treat me like a little kid, and I get it, I'm acting little. But I've still got this big feeling inside too and I just, I dunno."

"I know it's probably hard, but trust your parents, even when you don't like it."

"I do, Dean, but that's easier said than done. The bigger part of me says that, but the little mixed with the big results in all the, oh god, tantrums and stuff." He puts his face in his hands, and runs his fingers through his hair.

"I know—easier said than done. It'll get better. _That_ I promise," I say thinking of the great life I have. "You couldn't have picked two better parents." Well except my own, but I mean for him. I love Jake (yeah, yeah, it's true despite our bickering) but I'm not sharing my parents, long-term, with anyone. I may have the odd weak moments, in which I think I would have liked to have had a sibling, but Daddy's right, I don't share them. I already share them on a part-time basis with Michael, and that's more than enough.

"That's true," he says and the thought of Dal and Chris brings a smile. "I, the memories are starting to get hazy, but I remember being lonely. I don't feel lonely now."

The walk helps, and by the time we're heading back to the house for dinner, I'm thinking Jake is feeling pretty good.

**

Three days later, things take a turn for the worse.

**

Jake hasn't changed yet, but we all know he's gotta be close, and that this one is likely to be a big one. Everyone's been on edge awhile now already, so I guess now we're on the edge of an edge. To make matters worse, Uncle Chris has to go into the office this afternoon, and we all know it—Jake is letting us know it. He's not thrilled with the prospect. A few days ago, he appreciated the break, but as the days passed, he's less and less tolerant of his parents being gone.

Uncle Dal's been strict with Jake, and it seems to have been helping him, but right now nothing's helping. He doesn't want Chris, or Dally, or anyone, he just wants to sit and mope.

"Hey, Uncle Dal, maybe Jake and I could go for a short drive? Just to Nana and Granddaddy Colt's and back?" It's the only place preapproved by Papa.

"I don't think so, Half Pint. It's not a good idea."

"How about me? How come I'm never asked what I want to do? Oh right, I'm just a child. Don't worry 'bout me. I'll just sit here and drink my juice, like a good little boy."

"You know what Dean? Take him. _Take him._ " All of us look to Uncle Dal shocked, because no one gets away with talking like that around here, _and_ gets what they want, not to mention, Jake must be close to changing again, and Uncle Dal's wanted to keep him close. "I know he should get spanked, _again_ , but I need a break more. Go, and be back in an hour. If something happens, call me immediately." For him to say that, he _must_ need it.

"Yes sir, Uncle Dal." Wow. _I'm_ in charge. Not that I haven't been plenty in charge plenty at Colt central, but not within our nuclear family of me, Daddy, Papa, Uncle Dal, Michael and sometimes Uncle Chris when he's been over. This is sweet. I plan on doing a good job.

"How about you say goodbye to Papa now, Jake? He might be gone, _with any luck_ ," Uncle Dal says under his breath, "by the time you're back."

"Nah. I'm good," Jake says.

I can tell Jake's response grates on Uncle Dal's nerves, but he leaves it alone in favor of a Jake break.

Uncle Chris is hurt; that's plain, but Jake either doesn't notice, or doesn't care. I know one thing, I'm gonna kick his ass when I get him alone.

Uncle Chris is not so willing to let it go. "I don’t think so, Jake. Come say goodbye to me properly," he says, looking all the stern Winchester he is, dressed sharply in his work attire, one hand in a pocket of his slacks.

Jake makes his way over to him, unhappily, but gives him a hug nonetheless. "Try not to be too happy while I'm gone," he teases, planting the Chesney hat on Jake's head. Jake must be forcing the frown, especially with Uncle Chris smiling at him like he is.

I say my own goodbye to Uncle Chris, and drag Jake out to the Impala, before he does something to make someone change their mind.

**

"I'm tired, Sammy. So tired," I tell my big brother. "I don't get it, I've looked after so many Colts, and a Dean, how can this be so hard?"

"'Cuz he's yours," Sammy says ruffling my hair like he used to when I was a little boy. "And I know you feel guilty wanting him gone for a minute, but don't. I've wanted breaks from Dean more than I can count. Go enjoy a few minutes with your husband."

Said husband takes the cue, and pulls me up by my hands. "C'mon Dals. I've missed yah."

I follow his lead this time, letting him bring me up to his room, or I guess it's our room now when we stay here. He's got a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. "You're all dressed for work, hunny," I say. He looks good too. A deep navy suit, with a white shirt underneath, pinstriped navy to match and a bright red tie.

"I know. I just wanted yah t'myself a minute." He leans in, and we kiss slow, and sweet. I start feeling just as sad as Jake, that he has to go, and have to remind myself he won't be gone long. "I know you're gonna get upset with yourself, for getting so fed up with Jake, but he can wear down the best of'em."

"Yeah, I get that, but did it have to be so soon?"

He laughs. "You're a hero for it not being sooner, and you've been taking on most of the work and the emotional load."

I nod. "I know his behavior is a lot to do with the Modlenol."

"That may be so, but I agree with what you said, that just makes the structure all the more good for him. You forget?"

"Did I say that?" I tease.

"You did. It was a hundred percent correct too."

I didn't think he'd do it, but he has; he's got me smiling.

"There he is. My sunny-eyed Dallas Colt."

"Don't you mean Winchester?" I say, turning him, and slamming him against the wall. I lay one on him deep, and curse that he has to go to work.

"All right, I'm convinced; Dallas Winchester," he says. "And I know Jake's being a Hellian, but it's all going to get better, you wait and see."

I smile bigger. How did I get so lucky? "I think you're due a spanking," I say sucking my way up his neck gently, so as not to leave any marks. _God I want him._

"I am?"

"Yeah," I say, breathing heavier. "When you get home, I'm gonna spank this," I tell him, as I squeeze his bum, "and fuck you good."

"Oh please, yeah baby, _please_ do that."

I kiss him as much I can without losing control and just taking him anyway. "Hurry back, okay? I do understand Jake's feelings—I'm not quite ready to be without you either."

Chris nods. "I'll hurry home."


End file.
